


seeing blind

by marcel



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Hedge Witches, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing (Eventually), M/M, References to past trauma, Saving Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcel/pseuds/marcel
Summary: While tracking down an elusive spellbook for his coven’s latest magical rent cheque, Eliot meets Quentin, a decidedly non-magical bookstore owner and, almost immediately, accidental curse victim. Despite the danger to the coven and to Quentin himself, Eliot has to bring him into his world of Hedges and magic to find a way to break the curse before Quentin’s time runs out.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 245
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to the extremely self-indulgent thing i have been working on for the past 2 months! this fic is basically complete and written out in full already, and also i know myself well enough 2 assure you that i don't have the patience to wait a whole week between updates, so new chapters will be fairly frequent lol. also i'm EXTRemely excited to share this fic FINALLY after thinking about it for so long, and it is only out of respect for drama and narrative structure that i keep myself from dropping the full almost-50k of it at once. i hope u enjoy.
> 
> thank u, extremely, to everyone else in fandom still working hard to spread the gospel of slam-dunking canon into the trash, to becca for being extremely cordial about me springing a novel-length fic on you and for once again catching all my spelling/grammatical warcrimes, and to nicole, for the truly incredible amount of excitement and encouragement and hand-holding you gave me during the creation of this story. it is, as always, all for u.

Eliot would never say he _misses_ the certified nightmare of a landlord he had in undergrad, but sometimes it's a close thing. Now, pacing on a street corner and trying to convince himself that the sooner he gets this over with the sooner he can go home - _this_ being tracking down a lead in the recurring fetch quest that is his rent agreement - he spares one wistful thought for that blissfully ignorant time. At least that guy wasn't the literal Baba Yaga.

Overall, it's probably been easier to find the magical objects for her periodic scavenger hunts than it would be to come up with the average New York rent, but her most recent request has been a pain, to say the least. The coven has been trying to locate a very rare and apparently cursed book for weeks, far longer than any one item usually takes to find, and the most recent lead is the bookstore across the street from where Eliot is pacing. He was nominated to go check it out since Margo crossed off the last dead end, and Penny the one before that. The outlook, in Eliot's opinion, is not great, but Kady had seemed confident that this place was where they would finally find the book.

Eliot checks the note she had scribbled the address on one more time, in hopes he has the wrong strangely-named bookshop, but unfortunately The Armory seems to be it. Margo had told him it was an homage to some children's books he'd never read, but as long as it's not the type of nerd-centric store that sells anime replica swords, he's fine with never understanding the reference.

He shoves the scrap of paper into his coat pocket, brushing his fingers over the other contents. He'd already checked these things on his way out the door, but lists through the familiar items anyway. Billfold, key ring, half-charged illusion crystal, cigarette case - the latter is long-empty but still a comforting weight. The engraving is still right where it's supposed to be, and so is the broken hinge, the sharp point of it catching the pad of his thumb like a habit. He presses into it, steeling himself before he steps off the curb to cross the street.

It's a nice enough building, kind of old-fashioned with a wide display window currently decorated for some sort of adult spring break reading list. Eliot doesn't give it much more than a cursory glance before he heads to the door, decidedly not enthused. It's not even a vintage bookstore, it's _secondhand_ , a very important distinction in his mind. If he has to wade through sixteen copies of every Twilight book to find this thing, Kady is going to owe him.

Other than the tinkling of the bell over the door, inside The Armory is quiet, almost muffled, and pleasantly warm. While every available surface seems to be stacked with books, it doesn't give Eliot the immediate stress headache he'd expected. There are a few people around, browsing the shelves or wandering between them, which, while not surprising, is still annoying - he's good at nonchalant casting, but the only locator spell he knows makes the sought-after object glow, and that might be a little hard to explain to this guy in the romance section giving him a weird look. Manual search it is, then.

Eliot starts off in a random direction, giving each section he passes a quick once-over. After a few minutes he realizes he's not exactly sure where the average bookstore would sort an ancient spellbook. With textbooks, maybe? Foreign language arts? New-age zen-witchcraft self-help fusion? There doesn't seem to be an obviously-labelled Cursèd Tome shelf, either, which would've been nice even if unexpected. He slips his hands back in his pockets, tapping impatiently against the cigarette case. After all they went through to find the damn thing, picking this book up was supposed to be the easy part.

"Are you doing okay?" A little startled, Eliot turns to see a man paused between two aisles across from him, with a curious expression and a stack of books in his arms. His long hair is tied back with a few stray bits falling into his face, and the books look heavy and precariously balanced, but his eyes are earnestly wide and he's smiling at Eliot, just a little, waiting for his response. "Looking for something specific?"

At first Eliot considers just waving him off, but the guy seems genuinely eager to help despite clearly being in the middle of doing something else. "I am, in fact," Eliot sighs, flashing a smile of his own as he steps closer. "Something very old and very rare."

"Well, let's see..." The man shifts the books over in his arms to have one hand free for gesturing - it also reveals the name tag on his chest, _Quentin_ with a tiny bi flag sticker. Eliot knows very well this isn't the appropriate time or place to bring out the boy goggles, but a little thrill runs through him, regardless. He makes an effort to focus on the directions Quentin is laying out rather than giving him the long, slow once-over he deserves.

"On that far wall, we have a lot of older hardcovers," he says, gesturing past the shelves on Eliot's left. "We do our best to keep the dust jackets, but some are without, if that's something you care about. And just by the window there's a case with rarer printings. Mostly classics and, um, children's lit, like Kipling and Grahame? We just got a second edition of _Return of the King_ , though, which is pretty cool."

"I'm sure it is," Eliot says, distracted despite his best efforts. One of the books Quentin is holding has started to list off to one side, but before it can fall and take half the stack with it, Eliot twists one finger and it slips back into place. "I don't think what I'm looking for is quite so well-known, is all."

Quentin frowns, just a little. "What's it called?"

Eliot purses his lips, unsure how to explain the title without losing all credibility in this conversation. If only ancient Magicians had the foresight to name their collected works sensibly, like _Runes and Talismans of the 17th Century_ , instead of shit like _The Black Grimoire_ and _Tome of Merak_. "It's foreign," he says eventually.

"Well, I'd say we could look it up, but our computer probably hasn't been updated since Y2K, so that might take a while," Quentin says with a grimace. "I think I know pretty well what we do and don't have, though."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Do they pay you extra to act as the inventory system?"

"God, no," Quentin scoffs. "But I'm the owner, so I guess that's my own fault."

"Really?" Eliot hums, impressed. He supposes that Quentin does have an air of competence about him, despite the nerd-babble and the shy way his eyes drop between words. And he does seem to fit into the bookshop, so much so that Eliot can easily imagine what his tastes might be like.

"Well— co-owner," Quentin corrects, shrugging, but Eliot catches his proud little smile. "I'm here most days, and I log all the shipments and stuff, so…"

Eliot nods along. "The book I'm looking for should have arrived recently, actually. It would have come from an estate auction." He makes himself breathe past the twinge of annoyance that thinking about it calls up. The old book-hoarding asshole Magician had been evading them for weeks, and in a final act of what Eliot is sure was spite, he keeled over not two days before they finally got a lead. By the time they figured out the location of his heavily-warded brownstone, the place was already emptied out. At least Todd had a convincing cover as an auction house assistant with a weird fascination for local obituaries, so finding out where the contents of the dead Magician's library ended up wasn't too hard, but ultimately the whole thing has been a weeks-long headache that Eliot can't wait to get over. "From a week or so ago, if that helps."

Quentin thinks about it for a moment, then turns to head over to the desk in the middle of the shop. It's covered in books, just like everything else, but there's also a compact cash register and a truly ancient-looking computer monitor. Eliot follows him over, peering amusedly at the pixelated space screensaver, which lags a little when Quentin deposits his armful of books on the desk beside the monitor.

He opens a drawer and starts digging through it, looking determined. Eliot only realizes he’s started to smile unbidden when Quentin glances up at him after a few seconds and he has to school his expression into something neutral.

"You said it's rare. Is it a first printing?" Quentin asks.

"Should be, yes." Eliot can't imagine many cursed grimoires having a second print run.

Quentin nods, and then— smirks at him, almost conspiratorial. "So, you're a collector?"

He looks so pleased with his guess that Eliot decides not to correct him, returning the look instead. "What gave me away?"

"That you're looking for an extremely specific book no one's ever heard of, mostly," Quentin says wryly, but Eliot's exaggerated scoff just makes him grin wider. "Especially from an estate sale. Usually the only people asking about that sort of stock are collectors. Or, like, relatives."

Eliot snorts. "I don't have the look of a disgruntled grand-nephew, is what you're saying."

"Not exactly," Quentin laughs. "You definitely look more… collector-y." His eyes rove over Eliot for a long moment before he seems to realize he's staring and shyly ducks his head. After a few more seconds of digging through the desk, he finally pulls out an only-slightly-crumpled sheaf of paper and straightens up. 

"Here's the manifest from the sale," he says, flipping through a few pages, then frowns. "It's not, um, especially detailed, though."

"How do you mean?"

"I think partway through, the packers got bored of sorting alphabetically and just... dumped everything else into random boxes. There's some author names on here, but it kind of devolves."

Eliot gives the papers a betrayed glare. "So it just says 'book' three hundred times, or what?"

"Basically," Quentin says with a sigh. He puts the papers down and gives Eliot an apologetic look. "I have the total quantity, at least. Everything we got from the sale is in the back room, waiting to be unpacked, but if none of it is sorted, it's gonna be a mess. I can probably get to it… next weekend?"

"I see." Eliot glances past him to the _Employees Only_ door tucked away between the shelves. He _could_ just spell Quentin into letting him back there and search for the book himself, but… this was supposed to be the easy part, wasn't it? And Quentin really has been helpful.

Surely another week won't hurt. Baba Yaga hasn't started breathing down their necks yet. And if he buys the book like an actual collector might do, maybe he can come back to visit sometime.

"Well, if you find it, I'd appreciate you letting me know," Eliot says, flashing another smile. "Do you have a pen?"

Quentin looks relieved. "Oh, um, sure." He sifts a few things around on the desk and unearths a pad of sticky notes and a pen with a little plastic wizard attached to the end. Eliot takes it somewhat gingerly. It is not, admittedly, the least-sexy instrument he's ever written out his name and phone number with, but it's probably pretty close.

After a moment of consideration, he flips the note over and draws out a rune. "The cover should have this symbol on it," he explains, holding it out to Quentin. It's been one of their only means of identification for the book during their search, and it might be a little bit cursed itself, but definitely harmless unless it's drawn in blood. Eliot is pretty sure he's not going to have to worry about that here.

"Great," Quentin says uncertainly, squinting at the rune. "Anything else I should know about this... mysterious foreign symbology guide?"

Eliot smirks a little. "Just be careful with it. It's—" 'Dangerous' probably won't come off well, if Quentin is already weirded out. "It's delicate."

"Of course," Quentin assures him, nodding very seriously. "And if it's damaged at all from the shipment, I'll— like, fight FedEx for you."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," Eliot laughs. Quentin smiles and tucks his hair behind his ear, pleased but still shy, and Eliot can't help feeling endeared. "And thank you for your time, Quentin."

"No problem. I'll keep an eye out for it, um—" He glances down at the note. "Eliot."

Eliot shoves down the sudden insane urge to get him to say it again, and makes himself take a step towards the door. "I'll look forward to hearing from you," he says with a little bow, then leaves Quentin at the desk looking a bit dazed - which is always the ideal reaction for boys he gives his number to, even if he did write it out with a Gandalf pen.

It's a couple blocks back to the alley he portalled into, but Eliot doesn't mind the walk. It gives him time to think - mostly about the book, the relief of his alleviated headache, and the smug satisfaction of being able to tell the others that he found it, but also about Quentin. 

He's cute, and nice, and a nerd, obviously, but in an endearing way. Eliot kind of wants to see just how fired up he could get about something like hardcover children's classics, or whatever his true nerdy passion is. And truly, waiting a week or so for him to find the book isn't so bad. He's sure even Kady will understand.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. He's barely taken two steps into the penthouse foyer, the portal only half-closed behind him, when Kady appears in the doorway, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Where is it?"

"Good afternoon to you, too," Eliot says, rolling his eyes as he steps past her. "I'm doing great, thanks for asking."

Kady ignores that, following him down the hall. "You did get it, right?"

Eliot waves her off. “Come on, have I let you down before?”

“You don't want me to answer that,” Kady says flatly. She crosses her arms as soon as they emerge into the living room. “Do you have the book or not?”

Eliot pauses in the entryway, three unexpected sets of eyes watching him from the couch. Penny, Alice and Margo are waiting there, apparently just as eager as Kady. He tries not to let his smile slip. "In... theory, yes."

"That means 'no'," Penny says, unhelpfully.

Kady sighs, looking up at the ceiling like it'll grant her patience. "If this whole thing with the auction was a wild goose chase, I'll hex Todd into next month, I swear."

“It wasn’t,” Eliot insists. “Todd’s intel was good. For once,” he tacks on, when Margo gives him a bewildered look.

“Sorry, did I just hear you take _Todd’s_ side?” she laughs. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I know, I can feel my body rejecting it,” Eliot gripes, shivering in disgust. “But he was actually right about the bookstore. The book is there, it’s just currently sitting in a sealed box in their storage room, instead of on a shelf where one could actually purchase it." He gives Kady his most placating smile, but she still seems unimpressed. "Don't worry, I met the owner and he assured me he would have the book set aside for us. It's as good as ours."

"Not if it's there instead of here in my hands, it's not," Kady grumbles.

Margo props her chin up on one hand, frowning over the back of the couch. "Why didn't you just, you know, take it?"

Quentin's teasing smile comes unbidden to Eliot’s mind, but he pushes the thought away. "It didn't really seem worth the larceny charge when I could get someone else to do the hard work.”

Penny scoffs. “It’s not hard, just don’t get caught.”

“Says the Traveller,” Margo says dryly.

“Look, it's not a big deal,” Eliot insists, mostly to Kady. “I'll pick it up on the weekend and it'll be fine."

Kady gives him another annoyed frown. "You know we're not the only ones looking for this book, right? The longer this takes, the more likely it is that we'll have to fight another coven for it."

"You're being paranoid," Eliot sighs. "You burned the paper trail from the auction, didn't you? That gives us a head start."

"A head start we were _supposed_ to spend figuring out containment," Kady grits out. "Not waiting around for some asshole to find a box cutter."

Eliot bristles at that, but Margo stands up to cut in before he can fire anything back. "Hey, last I checked, we weren't done figuring out how to curse-proof the living room," she points out, hands on her hips. "Seems to me like having another few days to research isn't the end of the world."

"She's right," Alice agrees, finally piping up from the other end of the couch. "We still don't know what wards to use, or if we'll even need wards at all, if the book is dormant."

Kady looks— well, pissed, but her mouth twists in the way it does when she knows someone else has a good point. Eliot figures it's safe to give the final push.

"I swear, if it takes longer than a week, I'll go back and dig the book out myself," he vows, holding up one hand in solemnity. "And you'll get to say 'I told you so'."

"Fine," Kady huffs, after a grudgingly long few seconds. "But _you're_ the one who's explaining that to Baba Yaga."

"Just don't do anything stupid like start reading it out loud before we can figure out exactly what it's deal is," Penny says, leaning back. "We would have heard by now if it was a 'kill you immediately' type of curse, right?"

"I think so," Kady sighs. "But that doesn't mean it's not still deadly."

Margo hums, crossing her arms. "Or it could just be a book full of hexes with a bad reputation."

"All we know for sure is that it's old, it's cursed, and it's powerful," Alice says, listing off on her fingers. "And it's... riveting, apparently."

Eliot gives her an amused look. "Where did you find that review, Goodreads?"

Alice frowns at him, suspicious like she's not sure if he's making fun of her. "No, I've been cross-referencing citation entries from every textbook I can think of that might mention this tome or the Magician who wrote it. But you can try that, if you're looking for something to do."

"I'm really not."

Unimpressed, she stands up and smooths down her skirt. "Well, I'm still not finished, so. I'll be upstairs."

"I'll help," Kady offers. "Penny, you're following up with that guy from the Library, right?"

"On it," Penny sighs, and a second later he disappears.

Margo sits back down, tugging the stack of dusty-looking textbooks on the coffee table towards herself. "El and I will start on curse containment."

Kady nods and follows Alice upstairs. Eliot waits until they're out of sight before he heads for the kitchen, long overdue for a drink.

One sharp look at the cabinet has the door springing open and Penny's weird expensive gin floating out from the back of the top shelf. Eliot takes out his cigarette case and gets all the way to the window out of sheer force of habit before he remembers for he doesn't smoke anymore, and ends up just standing there, clicking the case open and shut a few times, the clasp never holding.

It's not like he expected the others to fall at his feet in gratitude, or anything, but maybe he had wanted just a _little_ appreciation. Waiting on the book isn't that big of a deal, and like Margo said, having a little more time is probably a better scenario in the long run. All the same, their disappointment is palpable, and Eliot just hates how uncomfortable it is, the feeling of _you fucked up_ , the way it settles sourly in the pit of his stomach no matter how much he tries to shake it off.

He steadies himself when Margo joins him in the kitchen, sliding the case away. She picks up the gin where it had rested itself on the counter and pours two glasses, giving Eliot enough time to smooth himself over before she hands it to him.

"So, other than that," she says with an eye-roll, "how was the bookstore?"

"Fine," Eliot sighs, leaning back against the counter beside her. "Not as kitschy as expected, thank god."

Margo nods sagely, and taps their glasses together. Eliot politely doesn't laugh at the face she pulls after taking a sip. "It was nice, actually," he admits. "Kind of an organized mess, but in a lived-in sort of way."

"And you met the owner," Margo says, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "What's that about? Was he a silver fox, or what?"

"No," Eliot laughs, trying and failing to picture it. "If anything, he's like… a very eager puppy."

Margo gasps dramatically. "So he _was_ cute. I knew I recognized that look."

"What look?" Eliot scoffs.

"That whole boy-toy-radar thing you do," Margo snickers, waving a hand at him. "I haven't seen it since Brakebills."

Eliot clenches his jaw unbidden, and takes a long sip of his drink to hide it. "If this is your way of telling me not to do anything stupid—"

"It's not," Margo says, more serious now. She gives him a searching look and he does his best to keep his face blank. "I just want you to be careful."

"With the muggle bookstore employee?" Eliot says dryly, making himself smile. "Not much of a threat, but thanks anyway."

Margo frowns at him. "Not for you, but for him. Kady's right, there are other Hedges looking for this thing. I don't think you want any of them to end up on this guy's doorstep looking for it - or for you, if they hear you found it there."

"They won't." But Eliot knows she's right. As much as he wanted to go back, it's probably best to steer clear of Quentin's store once he recovers the book. That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it, though, or about the concerned way Margo is staring at him. "I have that memory charm, alright?" he sighs, looking away from her. "As soon as I have the book, he'll forget I was ever there to ask for it. You don't have to worry."

"Good." She seems satisfied, but Eliot can tell she feels bad about it. She puts her hand over his on the countertop. "After this is wrapped up, we'll go to that witch club Penny is always recommending. See if we can't find you someone with less strings attached."

"Sure," Eliot says, but he somehow doubts that he'll feel up to it, even when the book is no longer hanging over them.

— — — 

Not that he'd dare say it to her face, but it turns out Kady's fears were, in fact, unfounded, because the very next evening, Quentin calls to tell Eliot that he found the book.

"That was fast," Eliot says, trying his best to sound appreciative and not like he's pressed uncomfortably into the one corner of the balcony that gets phone service. "I thought you said next weekend."

"I, uh, had some free time," Quentin explains, sounding sheepish. There's some muffled noise in the background, shuffling cardboard and the creak of a tape gun. "Anyway, it's good you drew that symbol for me, because the cover doesn't have anything else on it. No title or anything."

Eliot rolls his eyes. Classic needlessly-mysterious Magician bullshit. "Huh. I guess the author was a little eccentric."

"I guess," Quentin agrees, laughing a little. "So, when did you want to pick it up?"

"As soon as possible, ideally." Arguing with Kady over an unavoidable delay is one thing, but he doesn't even want to imagine her ire if she found out he let the book sit idly for any longer.

Quentin goes quiet for a moment. "Um… well, we're closed right now, but... I'm still here, if you want to come around tonight?"

"Oh." Eliot ignores the flutter of excitement that starts up in his stomach. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm just sorting the rest of these boxes," Quentin says quickly, more shuffling coming over the line. "My guy had a _lot_ of cookbooks."

Eliot is suddenly very glad Quentin can't see him or the grin on his face. "I'll leave right now, then."

"Okay, great," Quentin says, sounding relieved. "I'll, uh, leave the front unlocked for you."

"See you soon," Eliot hums, and waits for Quentin to hang up before he carefully extricates himself from the balcony.

He could just get Penny to take him right to the shop's doorstep, but showing up forty-five seconds after ending the call might be a bit much. He portals to the alley instead, and makes an effort to walk to The Armory at a normal pace.

He feels… unreasonably anticipatory, for some reason he can't place. His fight with Kady wasn't so bad that he's desperate to get back in her good graces by delivering the book ahead of schedule - in fact, he's pretty sure they're good now, after the cooperative cast they did for the new curse wards in the penthouse.

Yet there's still a weird sort of edge to the idea of seeing Quentin again. Maybe because of the memory charm he knows he'll have to cast, sitting heavy in his mind. But isn't that all the more excuse to do something otherwise regrettable?

Seducing Quentin wouldn't be hard - not that Quentin is easy, but he's cute and eager to please, and there's a lot Eliot could do with that. And yeah, maybe it is, objectively, a bad idea to take Quentin to bed (or couch, or whatever surface the bookstore has available) after he gets the book. It almost assuredly is, in fact. Eliot can practically hear Margo rolling her eyes. But from past experience he knows it's a reliable way to settle the tension wound up inside him. If he also gets to learn what Quentin looks like on his knees, then it's win-win, right?

And Margo doesn't have to know. If he's casting the memory charm at the end of it all anyway, it'll be easy to keep it to himself.

Eliot bypasses the _CLOSED_ sign on the front door and heads inside. The little bell jingles, but the shop seems empty. Quentin doesn't answer when Eliot calls out to him, but he remembers the direction of the _Employees Only_ door, so he heads past the desk towards it. He cautiously pushes the door open and peeks inside.

It's like a little office, or it would be if there weren't boxes everywhere. Some are still sealed, some half-empty with their contents stacked in various piles, and in the middle of it is Quentin, sitting on the floor with a book open in his lap. His hair is down now, falling around his face as he reads whatever book he found that apparently distracted him from the unpacking.

Eliot says his name again and he looks up, blinking like he's coming out of a trance. "Oh! Um, hi." He tucks his hair behind his ears, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, I guess I didn't hear you come in."

"Are you allowed to read on the job?" Eliot asks, leaning on the doorframe, crossing his ankles the way he knows makes his legs look a mile long. He's not too proud to get straight to the point.

"I think so, since I made the rules, and all," Quentin says, closing his book as he stands up. He pauses for a split second, eyes lingering, before he blinks and refocuses his gaze on Eliot's face. "You were way quicker than I thought you'd be."

"What can I say," Eliot drawls. "I've been looking forward to this."

Quentin gives him a shy smile. "I'm glad I called, then. Julia said I should wait until actual store hours. She's the other co-owner," he clarifies, when Eliot falters. He steps around some boxes to join Eliot by the door. "She doesn't really like when I do… stuff like this."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "What, staying late to dig through boxes upon boxes for one book, or letting me in after hours to pick it up?"

"Uh. Both?"

"Then why did you?" Getting Quentin into trouble - well, job-related trouble - wasn't really part of his plan for the evening.

"I was curious," Quentin admits, sheepish again. "I'm not great at, like, leaving stuff alone. Like, I read books kind of all at once rather than putting them down part way through. I want to know what happens." He leads Eliot back out to the shop, drumming his fingers along the book in his hands as he talks. "Julia's helped me get better at saving research and customer request stuff for, like, actual work hours instead of uh, doing this, but—" He cuts off, very nearly tripping over a stack of books on the floor, but he catches himself on the chair behind the cluttered desk, which is apparently where he was headed anyway. Eliot follows him over, trying and failing to hide a smile.

"I don't know," Quentin finishes in a rush, brushing his hair out of his face again. "I guess just— it's not every day that we get someone with as specific yet vague a request as yours."

"Well, I'm glad someone was enthusiastic about it," Eliot hums, and Quentin grins at him. "But as much as I appreciate this, I definitely could have waited another business day."

Quentin's smile falters a little. "Yeah, um. Sorry, I was just… really excited about finding it. I kind of called without thinking."

"No harm done," Eliot says quickly, eager to make him look up again. He takes one slow but purposeful step closer. "We're both here now, so..."

"Right." Quentin seems to suddenly remember that there is, in fact, a reason for their being there. "Well, uh— here you go." 

He holds out the book he had been holding, making Eliot pause. It takes him a long, confused moment to notice the rune on its cover, and realize that the book Quentin had been carrying this whole time was actually the very one Eliot had come to pick up - the extremely old, extremely rare, extremely cursed magical book.

And hadn't Quentin had it open in the office earlier?

"It seems like it's in pretty good shape, all things considered," Quentin is saying, when Eliot's initial rush of panic quiets down.

"Excellent," Eliot says tightly. He tries not to seem too frantic as he all but snatches the book out of Quentin's hands. "You, uh, flipped through it, did you?"

Quentin drops his gaze, frowning guiltily. "A bit, yeah," he admits. "It's weird, though - you said it's foreign, but the first chapter is in English."

"Is that so?" Eliot opens to a random page to check, but it's— borderline illegible, not written in any language he recognizes, let alone English. He gives Quentin a wary glance but he seems fine, only a little nervous, like he's worried Eliot will be mad.

"Sorry, I know you said it's delicate, but I—"

"It's fine," Eliot says quickly, snapping the book shut. This was an uncomfortably close call. He definitely has to get this thing out of the shop before anyone accidentally reads a cursed passage out loud. "How much do I owe you?"

Quentin looks a little taken aback. "It's, uh— I didn't really get that far, I'm not sure—"

Eliot digs in his coat pocket for the wad of cash Kady had given him the day before, nearly dropping it in his haste to pull it out. "This should cover it."

Clearly bewildered, Quentin takes it from him hesitantly. "Okay," he says slowly. "Let me... write you a receipt, I guess?"

"Don't worry about it," Eliot says, already backing away towards the front door. Hopefully Kady will understand why he didn't wait around to get change.

"Hold on," Quentin calls after him, following him around the desk with a confused frown. "Eliot, what—"

Eliot turns away before he can finish, reaching for the door handle. "Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Thanks again."

"Wait, Eliot, you dropped—" Quentin cuts off suddenly with a pained gasp, and Eliot turns back to see him leaning heavily on the desk, grimacing - then his legs give out, and Eliot rushes back over to him before he can crumple to the floor.

"Quentin?" He definitely knocks a few books over in his haste to get an arm around Quentin's shoulders. "What happened?"

"I don't know, I'm— I'm fine." Quentin looks around a little confusedly as Eliot helps him up, like he's as surprised as Eliot is. "It was like, really sudden pain in… I don't know. Sorry."

Eliot gives him a flat look. "You just collapsed, you don't need to apologize." He slides his free hand down over Quentin's arm, checking for injury. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's nothing," Quentin says, shrugging him off. He smiles a little weakly, but doesn't meet Eliot's eyes. "You can go, I'll be fine."

He looks more confused than pained - maybe a little disappointed, but Eliot can relate to that, at least. He hadn't planned on making such a quick getaway, but he really does need to get the book back to the penthouse before there are any other close calls, even if this is a less than ideal way to leave things. Much, much less than ideal.

Eliot considers trying to think of an apology, but Quentin starts to shuffle some papers around in a determined yet fidgety way that Eliot decides to take as cue to just leave. Still, halfway to the door, he can't help one quick glance back at Quentin, hoping to catch his eye one more time - but Quentin isn't even looking. Instead he has his eyes squeezed shut and he's bracing himself against the desk again.

Eliot pauses. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm good," Quentin says, not quite as convincing with his eyes still closed. "Just lightheaded."

Watching him carefully, Eliot takes a couple hesitant steps backwards, but Quentin doesn't move - until Eliot nears the door again, and he suddenly takes a sharp breath, doubling over.

"Okay, you're _not_ good," Eliot huffs, hurrying back to the desk. He puts the book down to reach out to Quentin, but finds him already straightening up.

"No, I'm… it's gone now," Quentin says, shaking his head. He gives Eliot an almost frantic look. "I swear I'm not making this up, it just— it stops hurting when you get close."

"I know, it's fine, just… catch your breath," Eliot tells him, trying to sound soothing. He watches Quentin lean over the desk and force out a long, shuddery sigh, feeling decidedly useless. This situation is either mundane and therefore cause for an ambulance, which he would rather not call, or magical, some side effect of— what, proximity to Eliot? He runs through every magical object on his person, but none of them could cause something like this, and he didn't cast anything, so it must be… 

With a start, he looks down at the book on the desk. "Oh shit."

Quentin looks up, alarmed. "What?"

"I think I know what's going on." But how can he possibly explain without seeming like he's lost his mind? "Can you— just step over here for a second." He backs away from the desk again, leaving the book where it is and beckoning for Quentin to follow him. Quentin looks confused but comes along, letting Eliot lead him across the room, step by slow step.

For the first ten feet or so nothing happens, but past that point a strange look of discomfort comes over Quentin's face and he stops, looking hard at Eliot. "What is this?"

"A hypothesis." Eliot watches him carefully, keyed entirely to the twinge in his expression when he takes another step. "Does it hurt?"

Quentin nods, looking a bit wobbly again, and Eliot moves closer to hold him up just in case. "It's like something is— tugging, or…" He trails off when Eliot turns him around and urges him back towards the desk. "But it goes away so fast, I don't know why I'm— Eliot," he pleads, looking up at him with real fear in his eyes. "What's happening to me?"

What's happening is that Quentin opening the book wasn't a close call - it was basically a bullseye. Eliot decides it's probably best to just be direct. 

"The bad news is," he says, sucking a breath in through his teeth, "you've been cursed."

Quentin stares at him. "Cursed," he repeats, like he's making sure he heard correctly.

"Yes, by the book," Eliot explains, gesturing at it. "Which is also cursed."

"Okay," Quentin says weakly, looking down at the book and then up at Eliot again. "Is this, um… is this a joke, or something?"

"What? No, I'm— I'm serious," Eliot insists, but he can see Quentin's frightened look turning more guarded, closing off as he pulls away from him. "It must have been triggered when you opened the book, and now if you get too far from it—"

"But you opened it too," Quentin points out. "Why aren't you— cursed, or whatever?"

Eliot blinks. "I don't know," he admits, and sweeps the book off the desk again. "But I have some friends who might."

Quentin doesn't seem heartened by that. "Like... doctors, or…?"

"Of course not," Eliot says distractedly, looking closer at the book - he still needs to get it out of here, but if he's going to have to take Quentin along with it… 

Well, hopefully his completion of the main objective will cancel out his complete fucking bungling of the rest. "We have to go," he announces to Quentin, pressing the book into his hands. "Hold this, just in case, and follow me."

He hurries him out from behind the desk and across the shop floor, leaving all the papers and books in their haphazard piles. Quentin still doesn't look entirely convinced of the dire situation, which might honestly be for the best, for the time being. At least he's coming along easily enough.

"What's the good news?" he asks, as Eliot herds him out the front door.

"The— what?"

"You just said 'the bad news is you're cursed', which implies that there's also some good news, right— oh, wait." He only gets a couple steps onto the street before he turns back towards the shop, nearly colliding with Eliot. "I didn't lock up, my keys—"

With an impatient eye-roll, Eliot crosses his fingers, twists his wrist - and hears the lock click.

Quentin stops in his tracks, blinking a few times, then reaches out to try the handle. It doesn't budge. "How did you…?" he starts, but trails off when Eliot puts a hand on his shoulder to turn him back around.

"The good news is, I'm a Magician," Eliot says, smirking as he leads Quentin away from the bookstore.

For a moment, Quentin looks appropriately impressed, but it clouds over with confusion. "Like, with card tricks?"

Eliot frowns in disgust. "Did that look like a card trick to you?" He glances around to make sure the block is empty before he tugs Quentin off into an alcove between two buildings. "Magician, as in _magic_ ," he says, hushed, before he curls his fingers in a familiar tut and a shower of sparks burst from his fingertips. When he looks up, he sees the tiny flares reflected in Quentin's wide eyes.

Quentin stares at Eliot's hands for a long moment after the sparks fizzle out, awe in every inch of his expression. "You're— you're a wizard?"

Close enough, Eliot supposes, and smirks at him again. "Better. And I'm going to help you out. Come on."

He has to explain some core concepts very quickly, as they speed walk the two blocks back to the portal point. No, he doesn't need a wand, and yes, he still went to public school - mostly all the ways Harry Potter got it wrong. Quentin seems to be holding it together pretty well for someone who just had a crucial foundation of their world rocked, but Eliot gets the impression there are a thousand more questions he's biting back, just in case it turns out to be some big elaborate prank.

When they reach the alley and Eliot casts the portal spell, though, Quentin loses the last hint of suspicion he'd still been carrying. Looking through the shimmering hole in the world leading into the penthouse foyer, he's _awed_ , frozen like he's stricken with it. He clutches the book to his chest almost childishly, but it fits with the look of wonder on his face. "This is— _real_ ," he says, breathless.

Eliot remembers that feeling - like having a blindfold removed, and realizing there's so much more to the world than the muted impression you'd had of it for so long. "Sure is."

He can't help smiling as he holds out a hand to Quentin, and when he takes it - gingerly, like he's not fully certain of that either - Eliot pulls him swiftly through the portal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm extremely emo abt the response to the first chapter and i swear 2 god i am just as excited as you are to have the whole thing up!!!! thanK you!!!!!!!!! ok. in chapter 2 we learn a bit more about both the curse and the coven. i hope u enjoy.

Suddenly they're out of the dark and cold of the alley and setting foot on the plush doormat of the penthouse. Eliot leads Quentin down the hall to the living room and lets him take in the change of scenery while he slips his coat off.

"Where are we?" Quentin asks, turning in a slow circle.

"Our safehouse-slash-apartment," Eliot answers, watching him head for the closest window. The sky is dark but the city is lit up below them, bright as always. "Still in New York. Portalling is just faster than taking the subway."

"Jesus," Quentin mutters, seeming to realize just how high up they are. "Do wizards still have to pay rent?"

Eliot grimaces. Now doesn't seem like a great time to explain the Baba Yaga situation. "Magicians," he corrects. "And having roommates helps."

Quentin turns to him, wide-eyed. "There are more of you? Here?"

Before Eliot can answer, he feels a ripple in the wards - a second later the front door opens.

"Hello," Margo sing-songs, echoing through the hallway. "El, you home yet?"

"Stay here," he tells Quentin, and quickly crosses the room to intercept Margo at the end of the hall.

She has a few scrolls tucked under her arm and smiles when she sees him. "Hey, where have you been? Kady sent me to Idri's to pick these up. I thought you would've wanted to come."

Eliot ignores her eyebrow waggling. "I had an errand to run."

"Oh, so Kady found something for you to do?" Margo puts the scrolls down and turns to hang up her jacket beside Eliot's. "I thought she benched you after the book thing."

"Not… exactly," Eliot says evasively. "I might not have actually told her what I was doing."

Margo pauses, giving him a suspicious look. "On a scale of one to ten, how worried for your life should I be right now?"

Eliot grimaces. "Look, just— I need your help, okay?"

He steps aside to let her further into the room. She squints at him as she steps past, but stops in her tracks when she sees Quentin standing by the window, still clutching the book.

"Um," he says, raising one hand in a tiny, awkward wave. "Hi."

Margo gives him a blank-faced once over, then raises a suspicious eyebrow at Eliot. "Tell me this isn’t the bookstore guy."

Eliot winces. "It's not what you think," he insists, ushering her closer even as she rolls her eyes. "This is Quentin, the owner. Quentin, this is Margo."

Still unimpressed, Margo looks down at the book in Quentin's hands. "Well, the in-person delivery is a nice touch, I'll admit," she sighs, but Eliot stops her when she reaches out for it.

"That’s not why I brought him."

Margo looks confused, but before Eliot can explain, Quentin jumps in, apparently unable to hold back his questions any longer. "Are you a Magician, too? Wait, am I not supposed to know that? Eliot didn’t tell me there were others, I just— assumed, since you’re here and this is, like, some magic hideout, right?" He looks warily between Margo's bewildered expression and Eliot's rueful one. "You’re not gonna hex me into silence or something, are you?"

"No one’s going to hex you," Eliot sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just— relax for a second."

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume you had a good reason for telling him," Margo says, crossing her arms.

"I had to, to get him here," Eliot insists.

Margo still doesn't look convinced. "Well, you might wanna figure out how you're explaining this one to Kady."

"Explaining what to Kady?" They both whirl around to see Alice has appeared at the bottom of the stairs, one hand still on the railing as she frowns at them. 

"An apparent loss of brain cells," Margo says, before Eliot can even open his mouth. "Done translating already?"

"I would've been faster if the pages Penny stole weren't ripped," Alice says with a little huff, crossing the room to join them. "But at least the description was complete, so I think we finally have some—" She cuts off when she sees Quentin, pausing mid-step and narrowing her eyes. "... answers."

"What a coincidence!" Margo gives Eliot an impatient smile. "Personally, I'd _love_ some answers."

Eliot scrubs a hand over his face. "Look, there's been a slight… complication."

"What kind of complication?" Alice asks. She's definitely noticed the book in Quentin's hands by now, and both she and Margo are looking at Eliot expectantly. Even Quentin keeps glancing nervously at him. Eliot figures he might as well just rip the bandaid off.

"This is Quentin, from the bookstore," he sighs, wincing in advance. "He's been cursed."

" _What_?" Margo drops all pretense of annoyance and stares at Quentin in shock. "Jesus, Eliot— how?"

Quentin grimaces weakly, lifting the book up a little higher like he wants to hide behind it. "It was an accident?"

Alice, to her credit, is much calmer about the whole thing than Eliot expected her to be - she's quiet for a long moment before she reaches for the book. "May I?"

At Eliot's nod, Quentin holds it out to her. Alice doesn't touch it, but instead folds her fingers into a small square window. "How did this happen?" she asks, squinting at the book through the gap.

Quentin is too distracted by the tut to answer. Eliot steps a bit closer to him. "He opened it before I got there."

"Just opened it, or actually read it?"

"I read a bit," Quentin admits. "Just the first chapter, or, um… maybe a little beyond that."

Alice glances at him for a split second, then back down to the book. "Okay, and what happened? Did you feel anything? See anything?"

Quentin shakes his head. "No, nothing. It was fine until… Eliot tried to leave with it, and then— it just—" He furrows his brow, mouth twisting. "It _hurt_ , I don't know how to—"

"There’s some sort of proximity component," Eliot explains. "He can’t get too far from the book without it hurting him. Hence why I brought him here."

Alice drops her hands, looking troubled, and Margo seems equally unimpressed. Eliot glances between them and rolls his eyes. "Not exactly my finest work, I know, but I'm sure I'm going to get an earful from Kady about stranger danger, so just— save it, alright?"

Margo scoffs at him. "In her defense, could you _really_ not think of a solution that didn't involve bringing a _muggle_ home with you?" Quentin looks a little offended at that, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. "You could've brought us to him, instead."

"Yeah, well, last time I left the book unattended it didn't go over too well," Eliot snaps. "Or is securing it not our top priority anymore?"

"It's here now, so there's no point fighting about it," Alice cuts in. "We have a different problem to deal with."

Margo huffs and tosses her hair out of her face, glaring at the book instead. "Okay, fine. Curse stuff. What do we got?"

Crossing his arms, Eliot forces down his irritation and follows her gaze. "A ten foot invisible tether isn't the worst case scenario, as far as curses go."

"That's not the only thing it does," Alice says quietly - but her voice trembles just enough that all three of them turn to look at her. "I just translated a description of it. The book doest have to be kept in close proximity to the reader, but that's just means to an end. The real intent of the curse is a life drain."

Dread creeps steadily up Eliot's spine as she goes on, glancing anxiously between them. "It compels the host to read more and more, and in the meantime it feeds off their energy, their life force, ultimately culminating in— in the reader's death, once they get to the end."

Nobody says anything for a long moment. Eliot feels hollow, like the pit of his stomach has dropped out and it's taking everything else with it. "Quentin," he forces out, "I am so— I never would have asked you to find it if I knew—"

"It's okay," Quentin says weakly, turning the book over in his hands. "Well, it's not _okay_ , but, like— this is a magical curse, right? So there's gotta be some magical cure." He looks around at Margo and Alice, hopeful but faltering when neither of them seem confident. "Unless… real curses can't be broken?"

"They can," Eliot assures him. "It's just— difficult. And unpredictable."

"It's usually way easier to curse a guy than to un-curse him," Margo adds.

Alice bites her lip. "And with a curse like this, originating from an object instead of a caster but still so powerful…" She shakes her head. "I'm not sure where to start."

"If any of us do, it's Kady," Margo suggests. "She handled it when Todd got sleeping beauty-ed last summer, remember? And she's probably got a curse breaker somewhere in her Hedge rolodex."

"Right." Eliot tries to make himself relax, more for the sake of Quentin's deepening frown than anything. "Okay, I'll send a message, get her back here."

Nodding, Alice flexes her fingers. "In the meantime, I'll do some diagnostics. Maybe we can see how far along it is."

"Also—" Margo turns to Quentin and holds her hand out, eyebrows raised at the book in his arms. "You shouldn't hold onto that anymore. Since it's trying to kill you, and all."

"Oh. Yeah." He hands over the book somewhat hesitantly. Eliot watches carefully for any sign of pain when he lets go of it, but he seems fine, if not a little overwhelmed. "Probably a good idea."

Alice starts to lead him away from the window, with Margo following behind. "Have you been feeling anxious to open it again?" she asks.

"Not really," Quentin says feebly, glancing back at Eliot. "I've been kind of, um, distracted—"

Eliot manages a smile and leaves them to it to find something to scribble on. He keeps his message short and to the point - _Got the book, need help, sorry in advance_ \- and a few quick flourishes later, the note is burning up and on its way to Kady.

In the meantime, Margo has ushered Quentin up to stand on the coffee table while Alice holds up a coloured lens with one hand and flicks through a tut with the other. A shimmering veil of magic drops around Quentin, a truesight spell Eliot recognizes but Quentin seems equal parts uncomfortable and fascinated with.

"You alright?" he asks, approaching the table.

"Yeah, it's just, um..." Quentin reaches out to touch the thin barrier, eyes widening when it ripples around his fingers. "I kind of can't believe this is... happening."

"Getting cursed _is_ a pretty raw deal," Margo sighs, putting the book down on the end of the table.

"No, I mean— magic," Quentin says, clearly floundering for the words. "It's— it's right here, and I can... _feel_ it. It's amazing."

Eliot can't help smiling up at him. Somehow, the look of wonder on Quentin's face makes everything seem a little less dire.

"That's good," Alice says, swapping out a different coloured lens. "Focus on that, the magic you can feel around you. You don't have a magical signature, but the book does. The tether might manifest itself."

Quentin nods very seriously and closes his eyes to focus. Eliot doesn't notice he's staring until Margo touches his arm and makes him look away - he tries to affect a neutral expression, but one glance at her makes clear she sees right through him.

She pulls him over to the window again and looks up at him with a concerned frown. "What's going on, El?"

Eliot lets out a breath. "Well, there's the cursed muggle in our living room, or the fact that he seems to be taking this better than we are. Take your pick."

"I mean with you," she clarifies. "You're being weird."

"I did just send Kady a message basically inviting her to flay me alive, so—"

"Jesus, El, don't be so dense," Margo huffs, impatient. "Do you really need me to spell it out?" 

Eliot frowns back at her, annoyed. "Do you really need to be so cryptic?"

Margo rolls her eyes. "I'm talking abt the memory charm, okay? The step you skipped. What happened to 'he’ll forget I was ever there'?"

"Ah." Eliot, admittedly, had completely forgotten about the memory charm, basically from the moment he set foot in the bookstore. Fuck. "The curse factor kind of put a wrench in that, unfortunately."

"I don't know, did it?" Margo asks, scathing. "Or were you too distracted by the overeager super nerd to get around to it?"

Bristling, Eliot gives her a harsh look. "I was _distracted_ by him nearly keeling over in front of me," he bites out. "After that, the rest of the plan kind of slipped my mind, alright?"

Before Margo can shoot anything back at him, Kady and Penny appear in the living room. Quentin very nearly falls off the table in surprise and Alice drops her spell to steady him. Kady, for her part, looks both apprehensive and annoyed - still, Eliot is glad for the interruption and leaves Margo by the window to head over.

He lets Alice summarize the situation, and who the guy standing on their furniture is, but when Kady turns to raise a sharp eyebrow at Eliot, he braces himself and steps closer. 

She's predictably unimpressed, if her agitated arm-crossing is anything to go by. "I'm not sure what I expected," she says, brightly sarcastic, "but this sure is something."

"Yes, well." Eliot folds his hands behind his back to keep from wringing them. "I would've sent more detail, but I ran out of space."

"No, I think 'sorry in advance' covered it."

Eliot swallows hard, the sour pit in his stomach reopening. "I know I fucked up, okay, but— Quentin, he's—" _Dying_. His throat closes on the word.

He glances over at Quentin, still standing on the table, his discomfort apparently sidelined for the moment as he leans down to look curiously at the coloured lenses Alice holds out. She drops one into his hand and he holds it delicately, as if it'll shatter if he looks at it wrong - and then looks over at Eliot, smiling, somehow, like the book at his feet isn't trying its best to kill him.

Eliot looks away. "He needs our help."

"Evidently," Kady says, then sighs. "Well, you did get the book like you said you would, at least. We'll see what it can tell us. Maybe breaking the curse will be easier than finding the damn thing was." Eliot blinks at her, thrown, and she smirks. "Don't look so surprised. Everyone's gotta do a case pro bono once in a while."

"I just thought you'd be harder to convince," Eliot admits. Kady rolls her eyes.

"What else would we do, just hang around here until he dies?" Eliot tries not to wince. "The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can get the book to Baba Yaga - hopefully without anybody _else_ getting cursed," she adds, giving Eliot a pointed look that makes guilt squirm in his gut, but that's probably the intended effect.

It's not as harsh of a browbeating as he expected, but he decides not to push his luck and stays quiet as he follows Kady back over to Alice. "What do we have so far?" she asks, giving Quentin a cursory glance.

"Take a look." Alice hands over one of her lenses. "The book is definitely tied to him. It hasn't been latched on for long, but the connection is strengthening."

Eliot peers through the glass over Kady's shoulder - sure enough, there's a dark smudge curled around the book like smoke, and running between it and Quentin there's a dark tether, pulsing in a decidedly unsettling way. The link disappears into Quentin's chest and doesn't seem to be hurting him, at least, so when Quentin gives him a wary look, Eliot manages a reassuring smile.

Kady hands the lens back, rolling her shoulders and widening her stance to cast. "Basic curse removal might be too simple, but I'll give it a shot," she says, raising her hands. "If that doesn't work, I'll try breaking the link directly."

"Um," Quentin says nervously. "Do you need me to, like, do anything for this?"

"Just stay still," Kady instructs. "And say something if it hurts."

That doesn't seem to comfort Quentin very much, so Eliot does his best to look encouraging as Kady goes through the tuts for a few different spells. None of them seem to have any effect, however, whether she casts them on Quentin or on the book itself. After a few minutes of bracing himself, Quentin lets his guard down a little and goes back to looking fascinated by every spell, even the ones that don't have a manifested effect - like the invisible blade Kady drives between him and the book with a sweep of her arm. Eliot can feel it rippling through the ambient magic in the room, but like everything else, it only makes Alice frown through the coloured lens and shake her head. "Still nothing."

"Motherfucker," Kady huffs, taking a second to catch her breath and glare hard at the book. "Okay, new plan. All of you gather 'round."

Margo and Penny step forward, coming over to stand on the other side of the table. Alice puts her lenses down and steps up beside Kady, and Eliot shifts over to the far end so they're spread evenly apart.

Quentin glances warily around at them. "Uh—"

"It's a cooperative casting," Eliot tells him, rolling up his sleeves. "Exactly what it sounds like. Just relax."

Quentin nods, and clearly tries, but he squeezes his eyes shut when they all raise their hands. Eliot bites back a smile and focuses on the others' magic rising around him as they cast in unison, sending the spell towards Quentin in a wave with their spread fingers - but it fizzles out on contact.

After a few seconds of silence, Quentin opens his eyes to peer down at himself. "Did it work?"

"No, you definitely would've felt that one," Penny sighs, shaking his hands out. "What the hell's going on?"

"The curse must be more powerful than I thought," Alice says with a frown. "I didn't expect basic spells to work, but even with all of us together…"

"So if curse removal is out, what's next?" Margo asks, hands on her hips. "What if we just destroy the book? That'll break the link."

"Take the book out of the equation," Penny agrees, nodding along.

"Whoa, we still need to deliver it after all this," Kady reminds them. "Let's keep it in one piece if we can, okay?"

"Easy enough," Eliot says breezily, rolling his fingers, and with a snap the cover of the book bursts into flames. Quentin yelps in surprise and stumbles off the tabletop, landing in a heap on the couch.

Kady gives Eliot an exasperated look. "What did I _just_ say?"

"What? One charred piece is still one piece."

"Not on the table, Eliot," Alice sighs. She brings her hands together and the flame goes out.

"Okay, addendum." Kady rubs her temples. "Let's _not_ damage the extremely rare book any more than we have to, please."

"Uh, I don't think you need to worry about that," Penny says, leaning over the book. "Check it out."

The burned and blackened spots on the cover are slowly shrinking, restoring the original leather and the unmarred rune. Even the singed page corners uncurl themselves, and within a few seconds the book looks like it was never on fire in the first place.

"Is that good or bad?" Quentin asks.

"Debatable," Eliot says.

Margo frowns down at the restored cover. "Just hit it with something harder, something it can't regenerate from."

"No one's casting Rhinemann Ultra in the house," Kady says sternly. "There still might be a way around this that doesn't involve destroying the book." She turns to Eliot. "Has anyone else tried to read it since the curse started?"

"'Tried' is the operative word," Eliot says dryly. He waves a hand and the book springs open on the table, pages fluttering, and they all lean in for a closer look. "It's not in a language I recognize."

"I don't think that _is_ a language," Penny says, squinting at the illegible script.

"But Quentin could read it," Alice points out.

Everyone turns to look at him. He blinks and sits up a little straighter. "Yeah, it's English, isn't it? Or— it was, when I opened it."

Kady frowns and slides the book across the table to him. "Can you read it now?"

Eliot watches uneasily as Quentin glances down at the page. "Yeah, of course. You guys can't?"

"What's it say?" Margo asks.

"Hold on," Eliot cuts in, frowning at her. "Did you all miss the part where reading the book brings him closer to death?"

She and Penny both glance guiltily at Quentin and away again.

Kady sighs, shaking her head as she straightens up. "We'll have to see if there's any more written about it elsewhere. Alice, those pages you were—"

"Wait," Quentin pipes up. Eliot turns, surprised to see him halfway off the couch with a determined look on his face. "What if the book has information about the curse? Or a way to break it?"

"It might," Alice says uncertainly, "but Eliot's right. We're not going to make you read any more of it."

"But I'm the only one who can," Quentin insists. "And I mean— I'm nowhere near the end yet. So it can't hurt, right?"

He looks at Eliot like he's asking permission, but Eliot gets the distinct impression that Quentin is going to do whatever he can to help, no matter what he says. "I suppose it's worth a try," he allows.

With a resolute nod, Quentin sits back down and tugs the book closer to himself, flipping through a few pages toward the beginning. "There isn't exactly a table of contents, but I can probably find where I left off."

"What was the first chapter about?" Alice asks, looking as wary as Eliot feels.

"Oh, a lot of stuff," Quentin says distractedly. "It kind of jumped around. Really interesting though, it's like, uh…" He trails off, eyes scanning down the page.

"Like what?" Penny asks, after a beat.

Quentin blinks and looks up at him. "Sorry, I… what was the question?"

"Never mind," Kady says. "Just tell us what you're reading now. Does it mention the curse at all?"

"Sort of," Quentin mumbles, turning the page. "Maybe? It's more about… um…" He trails off again, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Sorry, it's just— really hard to focus on two things at once."

"Okay, just read a few pages," Alice suggests, glancing around at the others. "We'll stop interrupting."

Eliot expects Quentin to have something to say about performing under pressure when they're literally just watching him read, but he doesn't - in fact, within a few seconds he looks completely absorbed in the book, like he's not even aware of anyone else in the room. Uneasiness rises in Eliot again, climbing up his throat.

He lasts six pages before the mindless look on Quentin's face is too unsettling to ignore. "Okay, time's up."

But Quentin doesn't seem to hear him. It takes Margo snapping her fingers in front of his face for him to look up at them, confused at first, like he almost doesn't remember where he is.

"So?" Kady prompts. "What's the verdict?"

"It's... hard to explain," Quentin says dazedly, glancing back down at the book. "If I get a little further, maybe it'll make more sense."

"Yeah, or not," Eliot says tightly, and slams the book shut with a flick of his wrist.

"But it's something important," Quentin insists, fingers curling defensively around the cover. "I'm sure it is, it's like I'm right on the edge of it. It must be in the next chapter."

"Quentin," Alice says gently, leaning down in front of him. "Can you actually describe anything that you've read so far? Can you remember any of it?"

Quentin glances between her and Eliot, seeming to come back to himself a little. "No," he admits eventually, blinking in surprise - then his eyebrows knit together, and he quickly lets go of the book as if it's burned him. "But then why am I— what was I actually reading?"

"Nothing," Kady says, a grim look of understanding coming over her face. "Or at least, nothing comprehensible."

Penny raises his eyebrows at her. "You think he's just staring at gibberish like the rest of us?"

"That must be what the compulsion looks like," Alice says, taking the book from Quentin's lap and standing up. "Making him think he's onto something revelatory so he'll keep turning pages."

Quentin looks— freaked out, honestly, moreso than he's been all evening - but he's clearly trying to keep it together, wrapping his arms around himself and pressing his lips together. Eliot is coming around the table before he really knows what he's doing, and sits down next to him.

"Just so we're clear, we're _not_ trying that again," he tells the others. Quentin turns slightly towards him, relaxing his shoulders a bit, and that's enough to make it worth the look Eliot can feel Margo giving him.

Kady sighs, pushing her hair out of her face. "Let's take a breather. It's late and besides, I don't think we can do much else without a curse breaker."

"You want outside help?" Penny asks, crossing his arms. "Who are you thinking?"

"Not sure yet," Kady admits. "A lot of Hedges who might usually offer to help us out could be looking for a way to get their hands on the book, or would rather steer clear of it. Either way, we'll have to be careful who we trust."

Eliot tilts his head at her. "So business as usual, then."

Kady smiles wryly. "I'll put word out."

She heads down the hall with Penny following behind. Margo seems to take this as cue to leave too, and trots up the stairs without another word. Eliot frowns after her until Alice moves in his periphery, setting the book down on the table.

"I'm going to take another look at that translation," she says pensively. "Maybe I missed something."

"Of course you didn't," Eliot snorts. As if Alice has ever missed anything in her life, especially in her own work. "You should get some sleep. It's been a long night."

Alice gives him a tiny smile. "You should too. Todd's room is free for you, Quentin."

"I'm, uh, pretty awake, actually," Quentin manages, still looking a bit on-edge.

"We'll be okay," Eliot tells Alice, before she can insist. She seems to take it for the out that it is, and smiles at him again before heading upstairs herself.

And then it's just him and Quentin on the couch, and the book on the table in front of them. But Eliot is trying not to think about that part.

"Well," he sighs, stretching his legs out and propping his feet up on the table, "I hope you don't have anywhere to be tomorrow."

Quentin blinks at him. "What— oh." He glances around the empty apartment. "Yeah, I guess staying here is the best option, huh."

"Do you need to call anyone?" Eliot asks, watching him curl up a little, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Your co-owner?"

Quentin shakes his head. "The store is closed Mondays, so it's fine. And it's probably a good idea to keep her out of… all this."

"Probably," Eliot agrees. Supervising one muggle is quite enough already.

Letting out a long breath, Quentin runs a hand through his hair before turning to Eliot, looking conflicted - almost guilty. "I'm really sorry about this."

"About what, staying over?"

"No— well, yes, but not just that," Quentin says, fumbling for the words. "I mean the— everything with the book and the curse and, like, getting all your friends roped into helping me, and—"

"Quentin, none of this is your fault," Eliot hushes him, sitting up straighter. "I'm sure you didn't exactly start your day planning to get cursed. If anything, it's my fault for not telling you how dangerous the book is."

Quentin frowns at him. "What were you supposed to say? 'Don't touch it, it's cursed'? Even I probably wouldn't have believed that."

He has a point, but Eliot is still pretty sure he could've come up with something. Especially if he knew the alternative was watching him die slowly. He swallows hard and pushes that thought away. "Look, the point is, you don't need to apologize."

"Well, neither do you," Quentin says stubbornly.

Eliot can't help smiling a little at his tone - somehow, even with his potential cause of death sitting not five feet away, he manages to be adamant about _this_ , of all things. "Fine."

"Fine," Quentin repeats, but he's smiling a bit too, now. He relaxes into the couch a little more before blinking like a lightbulb is going off. "Oh, um, by the way—" He sits up to dig something out of his back pocket. "You dropped this earlier, in the store."

Eliot's breath catches when Quentin holds out his cigarette case. He takes it from him quickly, turning it over in his hands more for comfort than to check for damage - he already knows all the scuffs on it anyway. How could he have not noticed that it was gone? He feels vaguely sick just thinking about it. "Thank you," he manages, voice tight. "When did I…?"

"While you were leaving— the first time," Quentin explains. "Right before the, uh, curse kicked in." He brushes his hair behind his ears. "I didn't realize it broke, though. Sorry about that."

"It's been broken for years," Eliot says absently, thumbing over the clasp, the engraving, the sharp hinge. Everything is where it's supposed to be. He makes himself unclench and looks over at Quentin again, who's watching him, curious.

"Is it like, a family heirloom?"

Eliot almost laughs. He still remembers the tiny, musty vintage shop he'd strolled into his first week in New York. With much more confidence than he had any right to, in clothes he hadn't quite figured out how to tailor yet, still half expecting the rug to be ripped out from under him - as if someone was going to call and say there'd been a mistake and he had to go back home, but that was dumb, and even if he did get that call, they'd have to drag him, screaming, out of the city - and that was the whole reason he was in the shop anyway.

The silver case was more plain and practical than some other items, but he liked how understated it was, how elegant. He wanted to be the type of person who owned something like that. And then he was, and just to prove it he had it engraved, _E Waugh_ in one corner. It fit neatly into his pocket, like he had never been without it, and it was easy enough to let everyone else believe that. But something makes him want to tell Quentin the truth.

"I got it when I first moved to the city," he explains, turning it over again. "It was one of the first things I bought for myself."

Quentin nods along, still curious. "Did you move here for, um— this?" He gestures vaguely around the room. "Like, magic stuff?"

"No, I moved for college and Broadway like everyone else," Eliot says, smirking at him. "Don't I give off the aura of a theatre major?"

"I wasn't going to mention it," Quentin says wryly. "So when did you, like... learn magic? Before moving here, or…?"

"Well, I had a couple of childhood, uh, _moving things with my mind_ incidents, shall we say," Eliot sighs, propping up his elbow on the back of the couch. "But you'd be surprised how easy it is to write things like that off as coincidence, or just the wind, when you've got other problems to worry about. So, no, I didn't get my Hogwarts letter until much later." He watches Quentin blink eagerly at him for a moment before continuing. "There's a school upstate, a university for Magicians, called Brakebills. I studied there for a couple years before Margo and I dropped out and joined the coven."

"Wait, you— dropped out?" Quentin repeats. "Of magic university?" Eliot nods, trying very hard to keep a straight face as Quentin's expression turns from wonder to complete bewilderment. " _Why_?"

And, well— Eliot remembers a spell leaving his fingertips and a sick crunch of bone, then abruptly makes himself think about the completely different noise the cigarette case made when he threw it at the wall after— _after_. Neither sound is really something he wants to describe.

"Academia wasn't for me," he says instead. "And Margo wanted a change of scenery. By now, we've probably learned more from Hedges than we ever did at Brakebills, anyway."

Quentin seems to still be struggling to wrap his head around the idea of giving up magic school. "So you can just... join a coven. Like, with witches."

"Hedge Witches, yeah." Eliot rolls up his sleeve to reveal the star tattoos snaking up his forearm. "It's a lot of self-taught magic, sharing spells— or _not_ sharing, unless someone does you a favour. Margo and I found out pretty fast that a lot of covens are interested in whatever spells a formerly-of-Brakebills Magician can give them. That's how we met Kady."

It takes Quentin a moment to drag his eyes away from the stars, back up to Eliot's face. "Are you guys all magic school drop-outs?"

"No, Alice actually graduated, and she'd be _very_ offended that you assumed otherwise," Eliot says, smirking playfully. "She wanted to know what all Brakebills had omitted from their lesson plans and decided Hedges could help her find out. Kady, on the other hand, grew up in a coven. Penny was declared dead after an astral projection incident, or something?" He squints up at the ceiling for a moment before waving it off and looking back at Quentin. "And Todd's joining was more of an accident than anything else. He's out with our landlord right now, her grandkids never visit and he's a great listener."

Quentin nods along, eyes wide with interest. Eliot suspects a great deal of this has soared right over his head, but his enthusiasm is nice, all the same.

"So how many Hedges are there?"

"In general? No idea," Eliot admits. "You can find other covens all over New York— and the whole world, if you know where to look."

A slow, awed smile spreads over Quentin's face, like he's not even aware of it. "I can't believe I had no idea all this was just… out there."

Eliot can't help grinning back at him. "In your defense, it's kind of a need-to-know basis sort of thing. There's no Statute of Secrecy or whatever, but everyone generally finds it easier for non-magic users to be kept out of it." He pauses, glancing over at the book on the table. "With some exceptions, obviously."

Quentin follows his gaze and grimaces. "Yeah, I guess these aren't, uh, _ideal_ circumstances for finding out magic is real."

Yeah, Eliot can imagine that getting cursed probably puts a damper on things. Seeing the worry in Quentin's expression, he sits up and turns to face him properly. "We're going to figure this out," he assures him, voice soft but firm.

"I know," Quentin says quietly, looking down. "It's just— it's hard not to think about it."

"Let me distract you, then," Eliot says, leaning back again and spreading his arms. "Ask me anything about magic." Quentin seems hesitant, so Eliot raises an impatient eyebrow at him. "I hate teaching, so this is a one-time-only offer." 

It only takes a few seconds for Quentin to break. "Okay, what was the spell you did with the— the fire, how does that work? I saw you move your hand and then…"

So Eliot explains tutting, in brief, and then cycles through some simpler spells for tiny lights and small-scale pyrotechnics between his hands. Quentin is fascinated by all of it - at least until his eyes start drooping, and Eliot gets halfway through the various alternative applications of spells he's adapted for bartending before he realizes Quentin has fallen asleep.

It's even later now than it was when the others went up to bed - or earlier, judging by the way the sky outside is starting to lighten up - but Eliot stays with him on the couch, somehow not tired enough to make moving from his spot worth it. Maybe some of it is the low-level panic that's been simmering in him since he first dragged Quentin out of the bookstore, but telling him about magic, showing him even the smallest of wonders, has been... _nice_. It doesn't feel like revealing great secrets to a stranger, although that's arguably exactly what it is. But it's more like he's filling Quentin in on things he's missed, things he's been waiting to hear about.

Or maybe he's just been bored, and having a new face in the penthouse is something to revel in. Either way, he's vowed to help Quentin get back to normal, and if that means he has to hang out in their safehouse for a few days, Eliot is sure he can find a way to live with that.

He ends up just sitting quietly beside him, thumbing over the engraving on his cigarette case and watching the light creep over Quentin's peaceful sleeping face - he almost wishes there was some physical sign of the curse, if only so they could make sure it isn't getting worse - until footsteps on the stairs bring him out of his thoughts.

It's Margo, somehow glamorous even when barefaced in a robe, and she smiles at Eliot as she reaches the bottom step. "Up all night?"

Eliot shrugs. "We were talking," he murmurs, nodding at Quentin, still fast asleep.

Margo looks down at him with an expression he can't read - Eliot half expects her to ask him what the fuck he's thinking again, but instead she just beckons him to follow her to the kitchen.

"Make me a coffee," she says around a yawn. Eliot smiles after her and extricates himself from the couch, careful not to jostle Quentin.

Margo could definitely make coffee by herself, but Eliot doesn't mind doing it when she asks, or even when she doesn't. If this is some sort of peace offering after their disagreement yesterday, he'll take it. "What brings you downstairs at this unfortunate hour?" he asks, glancing at Margo as he sets about finding the coffee beans.

"I hate going to bed angry," Margo grumbles, leaning her elbows on the counter to watch him. "It always fucks with my optimal sleep cycle."

"There's a spell for that, you know."

Margo gives him a dubious look. "No way, I'm not trying any sort of well-restedness spell until Todd's sleeping beauty incident is in the distant past."

Snickering, Eliot pours out the beans into a filter and sets it in the coffeemaker. "Just don't try to _well, actually_ a night hag, and you'll be fine."

"In the night hag's defense, I would've hexed him too," Margo says, and when Eliot catches her eye they both break into quiet laughter. When he turns away to heat the water with a twist of his fingers, he feels Margo's arms wind around his waist.

"Sorry for being a bitch earlier," she sighs against his back.

Eliot frowns and turns to face her. "Bambi—"

"No, we're all dealing with the same problem," she cuts him off, shaking her head. "I didn't need to be so rough with you."

With a huff, Eliot draws her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. "I like it when you're rough with me."

"I know you do." For a long moment, the only sound is the coffeemaker dripping, until Margo taps her fingers against his chest and hums. "You know, he _is_ pretty cute."

"I told you." Eliot can feel a _but_ coming though, and waits patiently for it. Sure enough, Margo pulls back to look up at him, her brow furrowed.

"I'm just saying, this isn't— it's not a great time to catch feelings," she says carefully. "Even if they're solely dick-related."

Eliot looks away. "It's not like that."

"Good. I hate to sound like a broken record, El, but you'll still have to cast the memory charm once this is all over." She slides her hands down his arms, keeping her voice soft. "You know it's the best option. For us and for him."

She's right, of course, but that doesn't make the prospect suck any less. Aside from the existence of magic breaking his world wide open, Quentin has seen their safehouse, he knows who lives here, Eliot even told him about Brakebills without even thinking about it— it would be better, _safer_ , to adjust his memory than to risk any ill-intentioned Hedges finding him - or than to leave him to a life of knowing what's beyond the surface, but never being able to access it. That almost seems worse.

But the need for that spell is at least a day away, Future Eliot's problem, and Present Eliot is going to avoid thinking about it for as long as he can get away with. "I'll deal with it," he promises. "Just. Not yet."

Margo gives him an apologetic look, like she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Well, he's not going anywhere for the time being, and none of us know how long this'll take. Just keep it in mind, okay?"

She waits for him to nod, then slips away from him to open a cabinet. Eliot moves to retrieve the full coffee pot, and when he turns back around Margo has produced a third mug alongside hers and Eliot's. Eliot manages to smile a little as he pours, imagining waking Quentin up with this - maybe he and Margo can start on a better foot than they did yesterday.

"How do you think he takes his coffee?" he murmurs.

Margo snorts. "Please. Three sugars at _least_." Eliot laughs and lets her shoo him away from the cups. "Go wake him up, I got this."

He leaves her poised to stir what he's sure is a ruthless amount of sugar into Quentin's mug, and rounds the corner back to the living room. As he quietly approaches the couch from behind, he can see Quentin is sitting up now, maybe just waking up. Eliot catches himself smiling.

"Hey," he calls softly, but Quentin doesn't respond. "Quentin?" Eliot comes around the couch to face him and stops, panic rising in his throat. Quentin is awake, but he has the book open in his lap, and an unsettlingly blank look on his face as he turns a page.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Eliot demands, definitely louder than he means to. It seems to get Quentin's attention though, and he looks up from the book, blinking in surprise - but there's blood running from his nose down over his lips, heavy and dripping like he hasn't noticed it yet. Eliot's panic bubbles even higher. "You're bleeding."

He crouches in front of Quentin, tossing the book on the floor beside him as Margo comes hurrying out of the kitchen and gasps. "Jesus. What happened?"

"He was reading the book," Eliot says tightly. Never more glad to be overdressed, he digs out his pocket square and hastily unfolds it.

"Um," Quentin says, seeming to finally focus on Eliot properly. He swipes a hand under his nose and looks shocked when it comes away red. "What—?"

"Lean forward," Eliot instructs, pressing the square into his hand and then guiding it up to his face. Quentin lets Eliot gently move him around until he's leaning his elbows on his knees with his head tipped forward, and the pocket square slowly blooming red where it's pressed under his nose.

In the meantime, Margo picks up the book and slams it shut, then gives Quentin an unimpressed look. "I thought we all agreed you weren't gonna read any more of this."

"I know," Quentin sighs, a little muffled, "but when I woke up, I saw it and I just— I kept thinking, what if there really _is_ something in the next chapter, something that would explain everything…"

"The compulsion," Eliot says, glancing at Margo. "It's okay, you couldn't help it."

Quentin furrows his brow. "Still. It was dumb."

"Sure was," Margo agrees. "What's with the nosebleed?"

"Another part of the curse?" Quentin suggests, still muffled. "I didn't even notice until you distracted me."

"Maybe," Eliot hums, an unpleasant twist in his gut. Hadn't he just been thinking how much easier this would be if they could see the curse's effect? He turns to look at Margo over his shoulder. "Do you remember that stanching spell, for blood?"

Margo tilts her head, giving Quentin an appraising look. "More or less," she says, eventually. "I don't wanna break his nose, though."

"I think it's stopping," Quentin says quickly. He pulls the cloth away from his face and frowns down at it. Eliot grimaces at the blood smeared all over his upper lip.

"Okay, come here." He helps Quentin up and leads him through the kitchen over to the sink, Margo following with the book. Eliot takes the bloodied pocket square from him and runs it under the tap, then lifts it to his face again. With one hand tilting his chin up, he gently wipes the blood away from his nose and mouth. Quentin lets him, standing very still - he must be a little lightheaded from blood loss. At least the colour is returning to his face by the time Eliot lets go. 

"You're sure you didn't feel anything?" he asks, wringing the cloth out.

Quentin shakes his head. "Sorry if I bled on your couch."

"That's what magic is for." Margo gives Eliot a pointed look as she performs a quick tut that cleans the pocket square. "See, quick and easy."

Eliot frowns at her, about to point out that cleaning spells work better on objects than they do on skin, but Quentin looks pleased enough with the display that Eliot lets it slide.

Regardless, sudden-onset blood loss is not a great side effect. Eliot explains the morning's development to Penny and Alice when they come downstairs - Kady is still busy in a mirror message trying to secure a curse breaker, and Penny insists they should wait for her before they decide anything.

So they do. Eliot sits back down with Quentin on the now-blood-free couch while Penny flips halfheartedly through a hex reference guide across from them. Margo lasts about five minutes of foot-tapping before she heads upstairs to lend Kady her prowess in persuasion, and Alice wanders back and forth in front of the window with the book, running through spells one-handed, trying to see if she can get any sort of reaction from it whatsoever. So far it's remained stubbornly harmless - to everyone but Quentin, at least.

Not keen on another nosebleed, Eliot keeps a careful eye on him. He had seemed fine when they first sat down to wait, but now he's watching Alice almost worriedly. The more she paces, the more uncomfortable Quentin looks. The next time Alice passes the far end of the couch, Quentin closes his eyes for a second, mouth clamped tightly shut.

Eliot immediately sits up. "What is it?"

Quentin shakes his head. "I-I don't know, it's— just—" He pauses until Alice walks past the window again, closer to their side of the couch, then lets out a shaky breath.

"If he's gonna puke, I'm out," Penny says, giving Quentin a wary look.

"I'm not," Quentin manages, but to Eliot he doesn't look so sure - he looks _scared_. "It just— it hurts, I don't know what's—" 

"Alice," Eliot says sharply, and she pauses where she's turned around to pace back to the other side of the room. One glance at Quentin seems to be all she needs to catch on, and she hurries around the couch to bring the book closer, dropping it on the table in front of him. Quentin relaxes immediately, slumping back against the couch.

Penny glances between him and the book before giving Eliot a confused look. "I thought you said the proximity was ten feet."

"I didn't exactly have a chance to measure it out," Eliot snaps. He watches Quentin for any sign of pain, but he just looks tired now, and maybe a little reproachful as he stares down at the book.

"I think it's getting shorter," he says grimly.

Eliot glances over to the window, tracing the path Alice had been marking out. Judging by the furthest point she could pace to before Quentin looked ready to pass out, the proximity must have shrunk by at least a couple feet. "Why now, what changed?"

"You said he read more of the book," Alice suggests. "Maybe that gave the curse a tighter hold, or something."

Penny grimaces at Quentin. "I guess we _really_ have to keep you from it now."

"What, the reading-to-death thing wasn't a good enough reason for you?" Eliot looks up to see Margo calling to them from the bottom of the stairs, with Kady following down behind her. "I leave you guys alone for thirty seconds…"

"In their defense, none of you were around when I opened it again," Quentin points out.

"Nobody's bleeding this time, and that's all I care about," Kady says, stopping in front of the couch with her hands on her hips. "Now listen up, we got a lead."

Turns out Kady's Hedge rolodex has proved fruitful after all, and despite the cautions related to the book's rarity, she and Margo found a curse breaker willing to help them out. "Her name's Amanita. She usually deals with cursed objects, not people, but this is kind of both. What matters is that she works alone and takes spell payment - and she's a 'wants nothing to do with the book' type, so we don't have to worry about her trying to steal it."

Quentin frowns, confused. "Wait, so she's _not_ helping us? If she wants nothing to do with it—"

"Oh, she does," Margo assures him. "Despite her claiming she doesn't want to get involved, the chance to get a look at an extremely cursed object has some irresistible allure for a curse breaker." She shrugs, pleased with herself. " _The lady doth protest too much_ , and all that. She really didn't put up much of a fight."

"Unfortunately she _did_ refuse to budge about not letting us Travel directly in," Kady sighs. "Amanita is pretty paranoid. Her place is heavily warded, probably obfuscated, too."

Penny makes a face. "So we're walking?"

"We'll use this." Kady pulls out a smooth stone with a rune carved in it that Eliot doesn't recognize. "She sent it over, pre-charmed to take us there. It'll create a temporary pop-up portal to an exact location."

"Like a portkey," Margo explains, and Quentin suddenly looks much less concerned about the idea.

"It doesn't hold much of a charge, but it should be good for there and back," Kady says, stepping away from the couch. "So decide now who's all coming."

Eliot stands up to trail after her, picking up the book from the table and beckoning Quentin along with him. Penny also joins them in the middle of the room, apparently curious enough to accompany them despite not being allowed to Travel. Alice and Margo stand back, opting instead to stay home and try another few contacts.

"You boys can handle it," Margo says, waving Eliot off. "And if you can't, there's Kady."

While Kady sets the runestone down and prepares to cast, Eliot adjusts the book under his arm. It's not quite small enough to be convenient, but not big enough to warrant putting it in a bag. 

Quentin notices his shifting and smiles a little wryly. "I can carry it," he offers, but Eliot gives him an incredulous look.

"I don't think so. We're not giving you any more alone time." Granted, Quentin also can't get too far from it, which makes things a bit difficult - but Eliot figures they'll just have to stick together. It really could be worse. He shoots Quentin a playful smirk. "I'll stay close, don't worry."

"I'm not," Quentin says, ducking his head. "Not about the proximity thing, at least. I just want to be... useful."

Eliot nudges his shoulder. "Staying alive while we go find out how to un-curse you is plenty. And— Quentin," he adds, quieter, and waits until Quentin looks up at him. "If it hurts, say something, okay?" He doesn't want to see the tight line of quietly-beared pain in Quentin's jaw again if he can help it.

Quentin's mouth twists in embarrassment. "I'm— it didn't really _hurt_ until Alice—" 

"I don't care," Eliot cuts him off. "You feel anything like you did just now, tell me."

Eventually Quentin agrees, flushing just a little. Satisfied, Eliot shifts a bit closer to him and looks over at the runestone. Hopefully this curse breaker can figure things out, and hey, maybe by the end of the day, Quentin will be out of mortal peril and everything can go back to normal.

That thought puts an unexpected tight feeling in his chest. Before Eliot can figure out if it's good or bad, Kady is glancing back and beckoning the three of them forward.

"Ready?" She does a series of quick tuts and the mark on the stone begins to glow. After a moment a doorway springs up, projecting out of the runestone, edges rippling. It's dark inside, and the penthouse lights don't seem to shine far enough into it to reveal more than a stone floor. Apparently unperturbed, Kady steps through the portal easily, Penny following behind. Eliot urges Quentin through ahead of himself, catches the kiss Margo blows his way, then joins them on the other side. Once they're all through, Kady bends down to reach over the threshold and grab the runestone, and when she pulls her arm back with it, the portal dissolves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i woke up and immediately got stressed abt the pacing of later chapters but DONT WORRY its ALL FINE. in this chapter we get some outside opinions about the curse, and eliot has a not great day.

They seem to have stepped into what may or may not be somebody's basement, a long hallway with stone steps at one end and an ominous looking oak door at the other. Kady doesn't seem fazed and leads them right on down to it. It swings inward by itself when they get close.

"Are all magic hideouts like this?" Quentin whispers, looking just curious enough to ignore his clear apprehension.

"Some of us place a high value on privacy," Eliot whispers back, urging him forward.

They step through the door after Penny, who looks around the entryway somewhat suspiciously. "I thought you said this Hedge is paranoid," he hisses at Kady. "Why's security so lax?"

Kady glances back at him with a shrug. "She knew we were coming."

"No direct Travelling," Penny grumbles, mostly to himself. "She doesn't even _have_ anti-Traveller wards..." Eliot watches him squint at the doorway a moment longer, but before he can say anything else, a woman with long dark hair steps into view. She seems timid, an anxious crease between her brows even as she smiles at Kady in welcome.

"Amanita," Kady greets, stepping forward to clasp her hand. "Thank you for inviting us."

Amanita inclines her head just a little, looking nervously around at the others. "You brought friends, I see."

"Yes, we're all pretty, uh—" Kady falters, glancing at Quentin. "... _Involved_ in this."

Nodding, Amanita hesitates only for a second before she beckons them further inside. "Come in, let's discuss..."

Her safehouse seems to be some sort of warehouse apartment, with high ceilings and exposed beams. The main room she leads them into is lit only by the slants of watery daylight coming through the high windows - not underground, then, Eliot notes - and it has a tidiness to it that reminds Eliot of professors' offices at Brakebills. He quickly blinks that thought away and focuses on what's actually in the room. The opposite wall has an unlit doorway to what must be the rest of the safehouse, bracketed by a set of full bookshelves. Quentin immediately gravitates towards them and Eliot follows him over, smiling a little. There's also a work table strewn with haphazard notes, silver instruments, and a thin beaded necklace resting half-broken under a coloured magnifying glass, and across from that, a high-backed leather chair that Amanita settles into while Kady quietly explains their situation.

Quentin is fascinated by just about everything, wandering slowly around the perimeter, wide-eyed. Eliot makes sure to stay close without getting in his way, his own eyes wandering over some of the more peculiar furnishings of the space. What really catches his attention though, and Quentin's, is at the far end of the room - a wide wooden cabinet takes up nearly the whole wall, with what must be fifty square alcoves holding a variety of objects, each with its own clear glass door. Some are displaying jewelry, some faceted stones and gems, some ornate boxes holding who knows what. One just seems to have a pile of cutlery inside, and one near the top holds a very creepy doll. Eliot wonders if all of these things are cursed objects, or maybe formerly-cursed objects, that Amanita has collected during her tenure.

Quentin seems particularly concerned about one alcove with an opaque black mirror inside. Eliot steps a bit closer to peer at it over his shoulder. "Have you heard of scrying?" he asks.

"Yeah, crystal balls and stuff, right?"

"A form of divination, yes," Eliot hums. "You look into the mirror long enough, it'll show you the future, etcetera. This one may or may not be cursed, though."

Quentin takes a tiny step away from it, only to catch sight of something else. "What about these?" He crouches down to peer into another lower alcove. Eliot stoops over to get a glimpse of the short stack of books inside. 

Squinting, Quentin tilts his head to read the spines. "They're... encyclopedias. Like, uh, muggle ones. Are they cursed, too?"

Eliot crouches beside him for a closer look. They do seem to be a regular set of encyclopedias - or, rather, four of the same volume. "Ah, they're vacuous grimoires," he explains, unable to help smiling at the utterly engrossed expression on Quentin's face. "Cursed books that steal thoughts and ideas… Hedges use them to steal spells, sometimes. They take on the appearance of other books nearby." They both duck down again to peer through the glass. "One of those probably _is_ actually a harmless encyclopedia, and the others are waiting to sap your brain cells."

Quentin grimaces, then gives Eliot a hopeful look. "Well, hey, if Amanita has these, maybe she's dealt with other cursed books before. Maybe she's even seen something like this."

He gestures at the book under Eliot's arm. Eliot resists the urge to shift it out of his reach. "That's the hope."

With a grin, Quentin turns his attention back to the wall of objects. Eliot looks around for something else that might be interesting to tell him about, but notices Penny off to one side, giving the high window a mistrustful look. Frowning, Eliot stands up and follows his gaze, but he can't see anything up there that Penny might be looking at. "What's up? Are we underground after all?"

"What? No, its the wards," Penny says distractedly. "Something's not right."

"Kady said we were expected," Eliot reminds him. "Maybe Amanita took them down for us."

Penny furrows his brow. "But they're not _gone_ , they're—" He shakes his head with an impatient huff, then weaves his fingers through a revelation charm. The wards around the window shimmer into view, but the strands of magic are unstitched and falling apart.

"Okay, weird," Eliot allows.

Quentin comes closer to peer up at the broken wards too. "Whoa. Is that bad?"

The sharp scrape of the chair being shoved back distracts Eliot from answering. He looks over his shoulder at where Amanita is now standing in front of Kady, looking shocked.

"Already attached to a host?" she's exclaiming, voice wavering - not in anger like Eliot expected, but in something like fear. "You neglected to mention that in our earlier conversation."

"I didn't think I had to," Kady says slowly. "Why else would we need a curse breaker?"

Amanita shakes her head. "Still, I cannot— I agreed to examine the book, nothing further. If it's not dormant—"

Confused, Kady takes a careful step towards her. "Look, so far it's had no effect on any of us besides the—"

"It's not transfer I'm concerned about!" Amanita snaps. In the second of silence afterward, she seems to finally notice that the others are listening. Eliot sees her eyes dart down to the book in his hand. "You are the host?" she asks, almost whispering. "The curse bearer?"

"I am," Eliot says, before Quentin can speak up to correct her. "We didn't come to present a viewing for you. If you can't break it, we're done here."

Kady gives him an exasperated look over Amanita's shoulder, but Eliot stands his ground. He has the distinct feeling he's being sized up, even as Amanita's expression smooths over.

"I will see what I can do." She holds her hand out. "The book, please."

Eliot hesitates. Maybe her sudden caginess is just a mark of her paranoia, like Kady said. But something about her words makes him pause - and just there, a tremor in her outstretched fingers—

He catches the movement of her other hand just in time to duck out of the way of the sharp slash of magic she sends at him. Penny immediately clasps his hands and fires off a stunning spell, but she manages to deflect it - apparently not remembering Kady behind her, and one kick to the back of the knees has her crumpling to the floor. 

Kady stands over her, fingertips glowing and poised to strike. "Don't move."

"What the fuck was that?" Penny demands, crossing the room to join her.

Eliot lets out a breath and turns to find Quentin already at his side, reaching out to touch his arm. He looks a little rattled, but otherwise fine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Eliot manages, smiling at him. "I may have thrown my back out, but I'm good." More than anything he's just glad she didn't throw that spell at Quentin.

He glances over to where Amanita is pulling herself up to her knees. "Why would she attack you?" Quentin asks, hushed. "I thought Kady trusted her."

"She did," Eliot says darkly. "We must have missed a memo." They have their share of enemies in the city, but Amanita was supposed to be an unbiased third party - and to turn on _Kady_ , of all people… something isn't adding up.

Seemingly satisfied that no other spells are going to be thrown around, Kady drops her hand and crosses her arms, glaring down at Amanita. "Tell us what's going on. Now."

"She just wants the book," Amanita whimpers, frantic. "She said I only had to get you here, and then I could leave, she promised—" 

"Someone put you up to this?" Penny demands. "Who?"

"Oh, honestly," drawls a voice from the shadowed doorway between the shelves. "Did you really think I wouldn't hear about this?"

Eliot narrows his eyes at the darkness, holding out a hand to stop Quentin from moving any closer. Unfortunately, he's pretty sure he knows who the voice belongs to.

"Marina," Kady snarls.

Sure enough, a few sharply-heeled footsteps later Marina comes out of the shadows to greet them, a pleased smirk on her face. "Surprise!"

Penny glares down at Amanita. "You sold us out?"

"Sure did," Marina chirps. "Amanita and I go way back, don't we?"

Amanita doesn't respond, keeping her eyes on the floor. Marina's smile grows a little more sinister as she stares down at her. "She wasn't supposed to jump the gun, though. But we'll talk about that later. In the meantime..." She looks up and grins at Kady. "It's been a while, huh?"

"What do you want, Marina?" Kady growls. Beside her, Penny has one hand half-raised like he's ready to grab her and Travel at the first sign of danger. He catches Eliot's eye, making as minute of a _get the fuck over here_ expression as he can manage under the circumstances.

"The book, obviously," Marina drawls. Eliot feels her eyes on him and snaps his attention back to her. "I mean, come _on_. Extremely rare, extremely cursed? You couldn't have thought you were the only ones trying to track it down. When I heard you had done all the hard work for me, I thought I'd come to collect." She pauses, glancing past Eliot to raise an eyebrow at Quentin instead. "You're not Todd."

"Uh," Quentin says. "Right."

The curious look that spreads on Marina's face as her gaze lingers on him makes Eliot's skin crawl. "Leave him out of this," he says warningly, but Marina just pouts at him.

"Don't be so touchy. I'm just trying to introduce myself to your new recruit." She tilts her head to smile at Quentin again. "Hi, I'm Marina. Kady's probably told you all about me. Did she pick you up at Brakebills like the others?"

Quentin glances between her and Eliot, stammering. "No, she— I'm not—"

"I said leave it," Eliot growls. He steps in front of Quentin, putting himself between them. "He's not a Hedge."

Marina makes a face, all interest in Quentin washing away. "What's he doing here, then?"

"He's leaving," Kady barks, hands poised to cast. "And so are we."

"But you guys just got here," Marina says, pouting again, like this is a party they're ducking out on. She wanders over to the work table with a sigh, frowning as she runs one finger over the instruments there. "I was really hoping we could catch up. But if you wanna get right down to business, that's fine with me. First thing's first—"

She suddenly snatches something up from the table and tosses it at Kady - Eliot recognizes the beaded necklace just before it shimmers in midair and attempts to wrap itself around Kady's neck. Her raised hands keep it away from her throat, but it constricts around her fingers instead, and she grunts in pain as it starts to wind its way up her arm. Penny darts over to help her, swearing loudly.

While they're both distracted, Marina advances on Eliot, twisting her fingers to send a force wave towards him. Caught off guard, he drops the book to repel it with both hands. He just barely deflects the spell that he's sure, knowing Marina, would have tossed him across the room or broken all his ribs on impact, or both. The book skids away across the floor and Quentin dives after it, but he only gets one hand on the cover before the sharp toe of Marina's boot presses down on his fingers.

Eliot takes a step towards them but freezes when he sees Marina's hand extended towards Quentin, two fingers glowing with a readied spell even as she smiles down at him. Luckily, Quentin seems to understand what she's threatening him with and freezes in place too.

"It's kind of unconventional," Marina sighs, bending down, "but I guess I can understand the appeal of a muggle pet. Especially one as helpful as you," she adds, tugging the book out from under his hand.

Quentin looks suddenly like he's about to do something stupid, like try to grab the book back from her, but before Eliot can reach out with his magic to drag him back, Marina straightens up with a satisfied little huff and drops the spell she had poised. She immediately flips the book open and turns around, flicking her wrist as she goes and sending Quentin sprawling across the floor.

Eliot rushes to his side to help him sit up, but a second later Quentin is wincing, then squeezing his eyes shut. He collapses back down, curling into himself on the floor. Eliot glances helplessly at Marina where she's flipping determinedly through the pages - definitely more than eight feet away.

"What the hell is this?" She holds up the book, showing the illegible lines inside. "Did you do this? What the fuck, you guys?"

"That's just how the book is," Eliot explains quickly. "No one can read it except—"

But Quentin whimpers loudly, like he can't help it, and grabs Eliot's hand hard. His entire body is trembling, his breath coming in choked gasps.

Marina frowns over at them, lowering the book a little. "What's his problem? I barely touched him."

"He's _cursed_ ," Eliot grits out. "He's the host, that's why he's here."

Marina immediately looks interested again, coming back for a closer look. The nearer she gets, the weaker Quentin's grip on his hand gets as whatever pain caused by the distance leaves him. Eliot gently eases him up to sitting, torn between wanting to drag him away from Marina or shove him closer to the book in her hands.

"Yikes," Marina mutters, eyes raking over Quentin again before looking down at the book, an expression of understanding coming over her face. "Oh, so let me guess - he's the only one who can decipher this mess, right?" She gives Eliot a haughty smile. "I mean, why else would you let your pet get cursed?"

Eliot bristles, but there's not much he can do with Quentin half-leaning on him to catch his breath. It's probably better for Marina to think Quentin is more useful alive than dead, anyway. Quentin, to his credit, does muster up a glare at her, and Eliot tightens his fingers around Quentin's hand.

Marina watches them amusedly for a moment, then sighs. "Okay, let's make it simple." She holds the book up in one hand and flicks through a tut with the other, energy crackling between her fingers as she gives Quentin a cold smile. "Either you do me a favour, or I put you out of your misery."

Penny chooses that moment to appear behind her, snatching the book out of her hand, then blips out to reappear beside Eliot and drop it into Quentin's lap. "Nice try," he says. "We're out of here."

In the split second it takes Marina to realize what's happened, Kady shoves the leather chair aside, the necklace that attacked her now clutched in her hand - or it is for a moment before she throws it back at Marina. Marina knocks it aside before it can try to strangle her, but it gives them the time they need for Kady to get close enough to grab Penny's outstretched hand.

Marina scowls at them, thankfully seeming to accept that its too late to try and stop them. "Fine," she huffs. "If you don't want to play fair, I'll just come back for it when he's dead."

Eliot considers how quickly he could cast one last hex, but Penny grabs his hand before he can try, and with Eliot's other hand still holding Quentin's, the four of them Travel away from the safehouse.

The penthouse foyer appears around them a split second later, calm and quiet. There's a long moment of silence while they all catch their breath.

"Well," Quentin says weakly. "She seems nice."

Eliot huffs a laugh and starts to help him to his feet just as Margo and Alice come rushing down the hall towards them, looking worried. "What the fuck happened?" Margo asks, taking in Quentin's weary expression and Kady's livid one.

"Marina happened," Kady huffs. "She must have gotten there right before us, broke through all the wards, and… _ugh_." She pushes her hair out of her face and sighs, heading past them towards the living room. Penny and Alice follow but Margo hurries over to Eliot instead.

He uses the arm not currently holding Quentin upright to pull her into a hug. "I'm okay, Bambi," he assures her. "Quentin got the worst of it, honestly."

Margo pulls back to give Quentin a once over. He's not as shaky as he was, but he still looks kind of dazed. "Marina gave you a primer on battle magic, huh?" Margo says to him, soft in a way that makes Eliot smile. She carefully takes the book out of Quentin's hands and he lets her, blinking like he barely realized he'd been holding it.

"Yeah, uh, I guess... but hey, um, real quick— how did we get here?" he asks, looking confusedly around the entryway. "Did I black out, or...?"

Eliot and Margo exchange a look and a stifled laugh. "No, it was Penny," Margo explains, giving his shoulder a sympathetic pat. "He's a Traveller."

"Basically, he can teleport," Eliot clarifies. "It's pretty handy."

"And he's psychic," Margo adds.

Quentin's eyes widen in alarm. "He can _read minds_?"

"Yeah. Believe me, it's just as annoying for him as it is for us," Margo insists, rolling her eyes as she starts down the hall. "He made us all learn mental warding spells so he wouldn't have to hear El and I 'any more than was strictly necessary', I think he said."

Quentin doesn't seem especially comforted by this. "You don't have to worry about him revealing all your deep, dark desires to the class," Eliot assures him, urging him along. "He's not _that_ much of an asshole."

"Okay," Quentin says weakly. "Can we, uh— can we go back to the teleporting thing, actually? How does that work, like—"

Eliot watches him very nearly stumble into the wall and exchanges another glance with Margo before hooking an arm around him. "Let's sit you down first, alright?" he says gently, while Quentin gives the wall a dazed look. "I'm sure Penny would _love_ to explain it to you."

They lead him, carefully, to the living room, where Kady is quietly and restrainedly relaying everything to Alice. Quentin collapses gratefully onto the couch when Eliot deposits him there and Margo places the book down beside him, close but out of arm's reach.

"Still cursed, huh," she murmurs to Eliot, watching Quentin curl up tiredly. "Amanita couldn't do anything?"

"She didn't really get chance before Marina showed up," Eliot sighs, sitting down across from him. "But either way, she's compromised. We'll have to find someone else, or another plan entirely." He gives Quentin one last look, searching his face for discomfort as he fidgets with his sleeve, before he drags his gaze over to the others and tunes into the end of Kady's recap.

"But you were able to Travel out?" Alice is asking, glancing at Penny. "Despite the wards?"

"They were ripped to shreds before we got there," Kady says, shaking her head. "Good thing, too - trying to use the runestone for the return trip might not have gone over so well." As she digs the stone out of her pocket, Eliot can see the symbol on it is still faintly glowing with the unused half of the charge.

Margo leans over to examine it, eyebrows raised. "Maybe we can still use it. Get the drop on her, or something."

"I don't know," Kady sighs, rubbing her forehead. "She'll either have moved on, or be rebuilding the wards as we speak…" With a huff she drops her hand and shoves the runestone away. "We can worry about it later. For now, let's focus on the next step."

The next step is apparently a backwards one, with Kady heading upstairs again to look into other curse breakers, as well as spread word about Marina and see if there's anyone else they should be worried about. Eliot watches her go with a frown. He knows she's putting a lot on the line to help with this, and can't help feeling like she's burning through all her contacts because of _his_ fuck up. The sour feeling starts to settle in his stomach again and he stands up abruptly.

"I think I hear a more-whiskey-than-sour whiskey sour calling me," he announces, heading to the kitchen. "Bambi, you in?"

"God, yes," Margo groans, flopping down on the couch next to Quentin. "Make one for Kady, too. She could probably use it."

"Anyone else?" Eliot asks, pausing in the doorway. "Penny, Alice?" They both shake their heads, Alice more distractedly than anything, and Penny with a barely-held-back grimace. "Quentin?"

Quentin looks up in surprise, like he didn't realize he was part of the conversation. "Um— sorry, what?"

"A drink," Eliot says, smirking as Quentin blinks back at him. "You know, something to help unwind a little before we start back at square one?"

Alice looks up at that, frowning at him. "Who says we're at square one?"

Eliot huffs a laugh, leaning on the doorframe. "Uh, the fact that we're having about as much luck with the curse as we did searching for the book? Which is to say, none for an extended period."

"There's still Kady's contacts," Alice insists. "There must be other Hedges we could ask."

"Yeah, except most of them are against us, or want nothing to do with us," Penny points out.

"Or, at this point, they could be working with Marina," Margo adds. "Not a great outlook."

Alice looks down at the table for a long moment, still frowning. "There is... one other place we could try," she says slowly. She glances at Eliot for only a split second, but it's all Eliot needs to guess what she's about to suggest.

"We're not doing that," he bites out.

"Doing what?" Quentin asks, looking back and forth between them. Eliot doesn't answer, staring hard at Alice and willing her to keep her mouth shut. 

She doesn't glare back at him so much as lift her chin just a little, defiant. "We could go to Brakebills."

"The magic school?" Quentin sits up, all traces of exhaustion now replaced by eager interest. "Wow, yeah, why haven't we tried there? There's probably, like, classes on this sort of thing, right? Or a teacher?"

"I already sent a mirror message to Professor Lipson," Alice says, and Eliot gives her another sharp look.

"You _what_?"

"She has a point, El," Margo says placatingly. "If anyone at Brakebills can help, it's Lipson. Maybe she's seen something like this before."

"And maybe she hasn't, and it'll be another wasted trip," Eliot huffs.

"Narrowing things down is still progress,'' Alice says, unbothered, and reaches over the back of the couch to pick up the book. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. Penny, can you drop us off?"

Quentin all but clambers over the coffee table to join her and Penny on the other side of the room, but looks back when Eliot doesn't follow. "Wait, are you— are you really not coming?" he asks.

Eliot really doesn't need to - Alice can definitely handle this by herself, and truthfully, the very idea of setting foot on Brakebills campus fills him with dread, heavy and suffocating. But the disappointed look on Quentin's face cuts through all of that.

"Let me get my coat," Eliot tells him, forcing a smile. Visibly relieved, Quentin turns back around while Eliot heads for the coat rack, trying to flex the jittery feeling out of his hands. He really wishes he'd thought to make a drink earlier.

Margo follows him, because of course she does, her arms crossed and a knowing look on her face. Eliot avoids her gaze as he slips his jacket over his shoulders, but she catches his arm while he's straightening the collar.

"You sure about this?" she asks, searching his face. "Alice is right, you don't have to go."

"Don't I?" Eliot counters, probably a little closer to snapping at her than she deserves. He brushes her off and turns away to finish adjusting his coat, making sure to slip the cigarette case into his deepest pocket. "I got Quentin into this, I'm going to help get him out. Even if this trip is pointless."

"Damn, alright, suit yourself," Margo huffs, but when Eliot glances at her she still looks concerned, biting her lip for a moment. "Well, I was going to stay here and help Kady, but I could tag along with you instead, if you want."

"Why, to help babysit?" Eliot forces a laugh. "Thanks, but I think Alice and I can handle it."

He starts to head back over to the others, but Margo steps into his path, her mouth a hard line. "Okay, can we be real for two seconds?"

"About what?" Eliot asks impatiently, trying very hard not to glare at her.

She looks up at him with a very careful expression, almost pleading. "I know you haven't been back to Brakebills since—"

"I'm fine," Eliot cuts her off, as casually as he can manage with dread slowly clamming up his insides. "It'll probably be a short trip anyway. Stay with Kady, I'll do my best to make sure Quentin doesn't pass out from excitement." He leans in to kiss her cheek. "Don't worry about it, Bambi. I'll see you later." 

Margo doesn't look entirely convinced, but she eventually backs off. Eliot moves past her and takes as quiet of a steadying breath as he can manage.

Penny is giving Quentin a somewhat stilted explanation of Travelling when Eliot joins them, looking like he hasn't quite decided if he's annoyed by Quentin's enthusiasm or not. Alice raises an eyebrow as he comes over to her, but doesn't question his change of mind. Instead, she holds the book out to him with an expectant look.

"Let me do the talking," she says as he takes it from her.

Eliot smirks a little. "What, afraid I'm going to get us thrown out?"

"Yes," Alice says seriously. "It's bad enough we're bringing a non-Magician through the wards, but Hedges aren't exactly welcome, either."

"Wait, are you guys gonna get in trouble for this?" Quentin asks, peeking worriedly around Penny.

"No more than we're in already," Eliot says wryly.

"We'll make it quick," Alice assures him. "Let's get going, Lipson is expecting us."

With a nod, Penny takes her hand and Quentin's. Quentin looks a bit more comfortable with the idea of instant teleportation than he did earlier - or maybe it's just the idea of seeing Brakebills that has him barely holding back an excited smile as he holds out his other hand to Eliot. Eliot tries to focus on that instead of the uneasiness roiling in his stomach.

He takes Quentin's hand, presses the book under his arm, and has time for one last deep, bracing breath before Penny whisks them out of the penthouse and onto the sunny lawn of Brakebills campus.

Eliot isn't sure what he expected, but everything being exactly as he remembers it somehow throws him. It's as if nothing has changed since he left - which, granted, nothing much probably has, but he can't help feeling like something _should_ have. For all that happened here, there ought to be some mark of it. But Brakebills' ability to move right along was part of the reason he left, and he honestly hadn't planned on ever setting foot here again.

As Alice hurries them down the path, he tries to focus on the present, on being here now and sorting this out. He can force the rest out of his mind for the time being. He turns the cigarette case over in his pocket, pressing the cool metal against his palm.

"We could just cut through the quad," Penny is saying when Eliot tunes back in. "If anyone asks, we can pretend we're giving a tour. Quentin looks clueless enough to be a first year, right?"

"Hey," Quentin says, trying and failing to sound indignant while mostly distracted by the students grouped up on the lawn, tossing spells back and forth. Eliot can almost imagine what it would've been like to meet Quentin here, to show him around and watch his mind get blown every few steps.

"We don't want anyone to ask, period," Alice reminds him.

Penny smirks at Eliot over his shoulder. "Sucks. I guess the Cottage will have to wait until next time."

He's clearly waiting for some reaction, so Eliot manages a small frown back at him. Quentin hurries to catch up, looking curious. "What's that?"

"The Physical Kids' Cottage? Student housing," Penny explains. "It's kind of like the campus frat house."

Eliot gives him as scandalized a look as he can muster up. "How dare you."

"What? You and Margo are the ones who gave it the reputation," Penny laughs. "Todd sounds like he's remembering a religious experience when he talks about your ragers."

"Don't use that word around me," Eliot says, dramatically pained, mostly just for the amused look on Quentin's face. "At least Todd lived there. You're from the fucking Consciousness Building."

"So you dormed in, like, the party house?" Quentin asks, snickering.

"Please, it was just a house until we showed up," Eliot scoffs. Reminiscing about this, at least, doesn't make him feel like his throat is closing. Maybe it's the way Quentin is looking at him, or maybe the Cottage was just always easier to think about than the rest. The case has gone warm in his pocket. He flips it over again. "My claim to fame, lowering the collective GPA of the entire Physical Magic discipline."

"Wow," Quentin says, holding back more laughter. Eliot even manages to smile back at him. He has a whole swath of highlight reels from countless parties, stories that probably sound fake in hindsight, for which he's sure Quentin would be an eager listener anyway - but he hardly gets his mouth open before they step into the shadow of the Infirmary building.

It's not an especially imposing structure, but glancing up at it Eliot feels every fond memory that had been within reach start to slip away, replaced by just one. It's fragmented, whether from how long ago it was or because that's how his memory had been working at the time, he's not sure - but he remembers chainsmoking on the sidewalk, finally working up the nerve to go inside, all but begging for an examination, so _sure_ something must be broken— 

He tightens his grip on the cigarette case, pressing his thumb into the sharp edge of the hinge and letting the pain clear out his mind. He's here now, he's fine, and he's _not_ thinking about things so far in the past.

There are more important things to focus on - like the nervous look suddenly clouding Quentin's expression. Maybe he's anxious about meeting another Magician after their brush with Marina, or maybe the direness of the situation has finally hit him now that they're bringing a medical professional into it, but either way Eliot stays close. Focusing on Quentin's unease is easier than thinking about his own.

Alice leads them quickly upstairs and past a smattering of Healing students, straight to Lipson's office. The professor is there at her desk, scribbling something down as a set of x-ray charts floats in a slow circle above her. She looks up at the sound of four sets of brisk footsteps coming to a halt in her doorway and smiles at them, apparently unconcerned about three Hedges and a stranger showing up in her office. But Alice did say she was expecting them.

Eliot follows the others inside, handing the book off to Alice when she gestures for it and listening quietly while she gives a more detailed summary than she could express in her mirror message. Their voices sound far away and it takes Eliot a long few seconds to gather enough focus to actually retain what's being said. Beside him, Quentin seems like he's in the same boat, except he's more distracted by Lipson's bookshelves and Healing instruments than anything. He nearly jumps when Lipson addresses him.

"Got on the wrong side of a slow and painful death curse, did you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Um," Quentin says meekly. "It was an accident?"

Lipson gives him a patient smile. "Happens to the best of us. Come on, let's see here…"

Quentin's nervousness evaporates as soon as Lipson breaks out her coloured lenses - in glasses form, with each lens on its own tiny adjustable arm - and starts casting, diagnostic spells weaving through her fingers. He watches her like he hardly dares to blink, jumping from apprehensive to fascinated just like he had back on the coffee table. The stool in Lipson's office doesn't have quite as much room to walk around on, but Quentin seems happy enough to perch there with his knees drawn up.

Eliot tunes out for most of the examination, watching him instead of listening to Lipson's results. He's sure Quentin must be just about the only person to ever look so enthusiastic in a professor's office. He almost looks like he's having fun. Again, Eliot can't help imagining what Quentin would've been like as a student here - probably just as awed by everything, honestly, even mundane things like the coloured lenses and plant research textbooks…

Quentin's expression changes suddenly, turning serious. Eliot zones back in as he nods at something Lipson has said and holds his hand out to Alice. She hesitates for a moment, then gives him the book— 

"Wait," Eliot jumps in, probably louder than necessary - everyone turns to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"Professor Lipson wants to see the curse while it's active," Alice explains.

Eliot narrows his eyes. "It's active right now, isn't it? The tether is there."

"But it's not _actively_ affecting the host," Lipson says, adjusting one of her lenses. "I'd like to observe what changes occur while he's reading."

"No," Eliot says immediately. Alice turns to him with a frown.

"But if we can see how the tether is affected—"

"I don't care," Eliot cuts her off. "We tried this route before, and all it showed us was that reading it is a bad idea."

"It's okay," Quentin insists, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his arm. Eliot hadn't even noticed he'd stepped closer to him. "If it helps figure this out, then it's worth another few pages, right?"

It's not, of course it's not, but Eliot can't think of a way to explain why he feels so adamant, and Quentin looks so determined now there's probably nothing Eliot could say to change his mind.

"If you start bleeding, we're stopping," he says instead, and lets Quentin's hand slip away as he steps back. Quentin gives him a tiny smile before he looks down at his lap, opens the book, and starts to read.

It doesn't last very long, a few minutes at most, but to Eliot it feels like ages. Unease crawls it's way up his throat again until it's sitting on the back of his tongue. He can't tell anymore how much of it is due to his being back at Brakebills and how much is something else entirely, but watching Quentin's eyes move back and forth over the illegible script, knowing it's meaningless but being drawn in anyway… His blank expression is unnerving, like some part of Eliot knows just by looking that something is wrong.

When Quentin's nose starts bleeding it's almost a relief. Eliot immediately takes a step forward but Lipson holds up a hand. "Hang on, I can see the tether."

She doesn't offer much more than that, and Eliot lasts about ten more seconds before the blood on Quentin's face starts to drip down onto the pages— 

"Okay, fuck this," Eliot huffs, and moves to pull the book away from him.

Quentin's hands clamp down on it for a long, panicked moment before he seems to recognize Eliot and hurriedly lets go. "S-sorry, I don't know what—"

"It's fine," Eliot says tightly. He resists the urge to toss the book across the room and instead hands it to Alice. Quentin looks a little dazed, but it might just be blood loss - Penny shoves a wad of tissues at him and Quentin gives him a grateful look.

"Well, you were right about the connection, Alice," Lipson says, taking the lenses off with a sigh. "It's definitely getting stronger. While he was reading, the tether was pulsing with energy."

Alice looks grim. "Is there a way to stop it?"

Lipson glances down at the book in her hands, mouth twisting. "To have a connection like that after only— you said two days?" She shakes her head. "This curse doesn't waste any time."

"We've noticed," Eliot grunts. "Can you help, or not?"

"Eliot," Alice chides him quietly, but he ignores her, staring hard at Lipson. She gives him a long, unreadable look and then turns to flip through her notes.

"I'm no expert in imbuing objects, but I've seen a couple things like this before," she says. "Granted, they were nowhere near this powerful, but if I'm on the right track, I think this book was more than just a fun passion project for the Magician who wrote it."

"Yeah, the fact that it's cursed tells us that much," Penny points out, grabbing more tissues for Quentin.

"Not just that," Lipson says, smirking at him before going back to her notes. "I think at first, it was a conduit for the author to receive energy from. Whenever someone read it, the Magician would gain that energy for themselves. But once they died - clearly not from old age, must've had some enemies - the book didn't have anyone on the other end of it, and it just kept all the energy it received."

Eliot exchanges a wary look with Alice. "How many people has it drained?" she asks.

"By now? Who knows," Lipson sighs again. "It's impossible to know how much magic power is actually within it, not without a much more thorough examination, and I don't think that's a priority right now." She glances at Quentin - he's a little less pale now, but the handful of blood-soaked tissues held to his nose doesn't look great either.

"So how do we break the curse?" he asks, only a little muffled.

"I'm not sure," Lipson admits. "In these cases, where the curse is too complex to break quickly, the next best course of action is to destroy the source object. Which I'm sure you've tried," she adds, looking around at the others.

Alice nods. "But it had no effect."

"The type of spell required to destroy this book… it'll have to be very powerful, and it won't be easy to do without harming your friend," Lipson says, pensive. "Together you might be able to manage it, with cooperative casting and a Healer on hand, but—"

"But there's still no guarantee we won't blow him half to shit?" Penny finishes, crossing his arms. "Great."

"There has to be something else," Alice says desperately, "a way to break the tether, or—" But Lipson shakes her head, and Eliot feels his stomach drop.

"I'm sorry, but there really isn't. For a curse as powerful as this, there aren't any easy loopholes." She gives Quentin a somber, apologetic look. "The only way to sever the connection is for the host to die."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's been a full week since i started posting and i just want to say!!!! i'm floored by the response and i'm having a really good time so thanks!!!!!!!!!! the coming chapters are all a little bit shorter than the previous ones BUT there is still much to happen. i'm so excited to share the rest.  
> anyway! in this chapter, quentin and eliot talk about brakebills.

It's a quiet journey back down to the lobby. Nobody seems to know what to say to Quentin, but he looks caught up in his own thoughts anyway, no longer bleeding but still clutching the stained tissues. Eliot can't bring himself to even try to draw him out of it. He just wants to get away from the Infirmary and Brakebills and all of this as soon as possible, and if nobody needs to talk about it, that suits him just fine.

Thankfully, Penny doesn't seem to have the patience to walk all the way back to where they started either, so he Travels them back to the penthouse from the front steps.

Eliot retreats to the balcony as soon as they disentangle themselves, leaving Alice and Penny to explain things to Kady. He can feel Margo's eyes on him, but doesn't let himself look up, too busy scrabbling at any semblance of calm he can manage to pull over himself to let her try to ask what's wrong.

He stares out at the city as the sun sets, not really seeing any of it, and flicks the cigarette case open and shut. If the stupid clasp would hold then maybe it would actually be _useful_ , and he could be out here chainsmoking the tremor out of his hands, but instead there's only the broken hinge to press his thumb into and hope the pain is sharp enough to get himself under control - but it kind of feels like a losing battle, like trying to smooth out wallpaper that keeps curling back down on top of him.

It's useless, _he's_ useless, everything they've tried has just made things worse for Quentin - not that he's been contributing to any plan, though, all he's really been tasked with is making sure Quentin doesn't read himself to death under his watch, but he keeps letting people make concessions on that, somehow. 

He should've listened to Margo. Going to Brakebills was a bad idea. He can't even think about Lipson's insights when they come paired with the sad way she had looked at Quentin, too similar to a memory he's been trying with all his might to keep from taking up room in his brain - how she had looked at Eliot, years ago, when she assured him that there was nothing broken after all, which meant it was just _him_ , and the broken thing had always been there, sharp and jagged and just waiting to hurt someone. But it's not like he needed proof of that, he already knew, even before he felt someone else's bones snap with a twist of his fingers, he knew— 

The balcony door slides open and Eliot whirls around, clicking the cigarette case shut.

He had expected Margo, or maybe Kady, come to urge him back inside so they can start from zero again - but it's Quentin, looking diffident in the warm glow from the lights inside. Eliot hadn't realized how dark it had gotten out here, now that the sun is down. For a second he thinks Quentin is going to turn around and go right back in, but instead he holds up his cellphone. "Margo told me I could get service out here," he says sheepishly.

He still hesitates, though, until Eliot catches on that he's waiting for permission to join him, and nods. Quentin slides the glass door shut, pausing to drag something over the jamb with his foot before it closes all the way. It takes Eliot a second to realize it's the extremely cursed book that he's basically kicking around, and the absurdity of it shocks him out of his detached reverie. "You sure that's safe?"

Quentin looks up and smiles, tentative. "Kady said to do whatever, if it's going to heal itself anyway."

"Ah." Kady must be about as fed up with the book as Eliot is, then. Quentin eyes it a moment longer, gives it another nudge with his foot, then finally joins Eliot by the railing.

"The proximity thing," he explains, when Eliot raises an eyebrow. "It's shorter now, like five feet?"

"I see." Quentin didn't even read that much in Lipson's office, but the distance already shrunk so much, christ— Eliot takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he looks at Quentin again. "Who are you calling?"

"Oh— Julia," Quentin says, seeming to remember the reason he came outside. "Since I'm not gonna be able to, like. Open the store tomorrow. So." He frowns down at his phone, then holds it up, searching for a connection.

Eliot snorts and shifts over. "Come here, it's best in this corner."

Quentin smiles gratefully and squeezes himself in next to him. Eliot could definitely move over a bit more, give him some actual space to use his arms, but... Quentin doesn't seem to mind the close quarters. His elbow presses against Eliot's where he leans back against the railing, lifting his phone to his ear.

Eliot tries not to eavesdrop, looking back out at the dark sky and the bright city below while Quentin talks to Julia, but it's hard not to listen when Quentin is right next to him. He can't help feeling bad, hearing him lie to his friend.

"It's just a cold, Jules," Quentin is saying, ducking his head. "It's— no, you don't have to. I don't want to cough on you." He sniffles a little for good measure, or maybe that's the end of his nosebleed still hanging on, but either way Julia seems to believe him, and lets him go with some sympathetic well-wishes that Eliot gets the gist of even from a distance. Quentin hangs up after promising to owe her one and sighs hard, running a hand through his hair before looking back at Eliot.

It's then that Eliot catches himself staring, not even sure when he looked away from the skyline— but Quentin just smiles and turns to lean forward against the railing, mirroring him. The light from the city is dim up here, but between that and the glow from the room behind them, it's easy enough to pick out the curious furrow in his brow, the escaped bit of hair falling into his face, the curl of his lips. "What?"

Eliot shrugs. "She seems nice."

"Julia? Yeah, she's great. She's half-convinced I'm coming down with the flu, though."

"You might have to tell her she's right, if we don't make any progress tomorrow."

Quentin gives him a confused look. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Just based on the last couple days' fuck-ups? Hmm, I wonder," Eliot says, not bothering to hide his bitterness. "Today, especially, was a waste."

"I don't know," Quentin hums. "It was kind of cool."

Eliot stares at him, on purpose this time. "You got attacked by Kady's psycho nemesis and then told by a medical professional that you're almost certainly going to die."

"Well, yeah," Quentin agrees, shrugging, "but there was a lot of cool things, too. Magic, I mean, like the weird glass cabinet full of stuff, and the spells you guys did. Even getting knocked over by magic is cooler than anything on a normal day, you know? And Brakebills, I mean— god, you're just... _surrounded_ by it. How could anyone want to leave?"

Eliot gives a dry laugh. "You'd be surprised."

"Oh, I didn't mean— I'm sure you had your reasons," Quentin says quickly. "I'm just so... so insanely jealous." Eliot raises an eyebrow at him and he smiles a little, shaking his head as he looks back out at the city. "It feels like I dreamed it."

Eliot can almost remember how that felt, to be in awe of Brakebills and magic and the infinite possibility at his fingertips - thinking that maybe there he could be who he wanted, he could find something that felt right. But he knew better soon enough.

Quentin glances over at him then, hesitating, and Eliot can practically feel the question in the air before he asks it. "Why did you leave?"

Eliot gives him a long look. There's still a tiny fleck of blood on Quentin's upper lip. "I killed someone."

It's surprisingly easy to say out loud, here on the quiet balcony. Eliot isn't sure what Quentin was expecting, but he's fairly certain it wasn't that. He feels a little detached again, watching Quentin's careful expression flicker. "What?"

"I was in my second year. We were working with... matter spells, manipulation, whatever." Some of the details are fuzzy, too far in the back of his mind. "Someone fucked up. The casting was off, or… I don't know. But the spell went wrong, and he lost control. He tore the room apart. And then he turned on me."

Despite his best efforts, that part of the memory refuses to be anything but crystal clear - watching his classmate advance on him - tripping backwards, panic clawing through his chest - raising his hand on instinct, feeling a spell gathering between his fingers, and— the violent twist as he drove them down.

The thick snap of a bone breaking. 

"I cast without thinking. There was even a moment where I wasn't sure what happened, why he had stopped, but then he hit the floor, and. I knew." The rest is blurrier. He made sure of that.

Quentin looks pale even in the dark. "So you were expelled, even though it was self-defense—"

"Expelled? God, no," Eliot says, huffing another laugh. "No, the dean thought it was, ah, _impressive_ that I whipped out Battle Magic I'd never been formally taught. He offered to put me in touch with a mentor, so I could hone it. And everyone else called it an unfortunate accident and moved right along."

"Jesus, Eliot."

"Yeah." He flicks the cigarette case open and shut again. "Not so fucking whimsical, is it."

"But someone must have done something," Quentin says weakly. "I mean, if a student… died."

"Honestly? Not really," Eliot sighs. "But in their defense, I wasn't exactly protesting. I couldn't take it, I couldn't— _do_ anything. They told me to just go to class, but I couldn't go near the building without having a fucking panic attack." He must've cracked every windowpane in the Cottage just from shaking, so hard, all the time.

Quentin winces. "No one helped you?"

"I didn't want help," Eliot snorts. He went to Lipson once, and never again. "I wanted to not be there. So I left."

"God, Eliot," Quentin says quietly, shaking his head. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Eliot frowns at him. "For what? You're hardly the first person to get caught up in the idea of Brakebills. It's not like they advertise the disregard for human life." He feels his voice growing sharp and makes himself look back out over the railing, sighing the rest of it out. "Great for a day trip, though."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry you went through that," Quentin mumbles. "I wish I— I just wish someone had been there for you."

"Well, Margo was there," Eliot says after a moment. "She maybe didn't completely understand, at first, why I was trying to drink myself into oblivion even more than usual. But she wouldn't let me leave by myself." He feels his lips quirk unbidden. "She threatened to hex me if I tried."

He hears Quentin breathe a laugh beside him. "That's not hard to believe."

"Yeah, I didn't push my luck with that one." He straightens up a little, clearing his throat and leaning his elbow against Quentin's again. "So we both came back to the city, she went looking for Hedges while I worked on getting at least one hand back on the wheel. Then we met Kady, and then…" He trails off, gesturing around the balcony and at the apartment behind them. "Well. You know."

Quentin follows his gaze. "The others... do they know?" he asks softly. "Why you left, I mean?"

"No. 'Brakebills dropout' was enough for Kady, and Kady's approval was enough for the rest." He shrugs when Quentin glances back at him. "Gotta love Hedges. They don't give a shit about your tragic backstory as long as you've got some decent spells to share."

"Did you ever learn one to fix this?" Quentin asks, and for a moment Eliot is confused until he realizes Quentin is frowning down at the cigarette case. He turns it over so the broken hinge catches the light. Fixing it probably wouldn't be too hard - some fiddly mending spell, precision and patience…

"I could," he says eventually. "But I broke it on purpose, so…"

Quentin looks up at him, bewildered. "Why?"

And, well—

He had been pacing his room all day, a couple times even making it to the top of the stairs before remembering that leaving meant being _seen_ , people looking at him and _knowing—_ or was it worse if they didn't know? Either way, the thought sent him crawling back down the hall every time.

Margo wasn't around. He hadn't told her yet. She would know soon enough, when she got back and found him shaking through the tuts to mend the bottle he'd shattered - but before that, it was just him in his room with the cigarette case, empty and useless but still beautiful, somehow. This carefully selected piece of armor, his very first, unchanged even though _everything_ had changed— and Eliot suddenly couldn't stand it.

He threw it as hard as he could. He remembers how it felt leaving his fingers, almost like casting. Remembers what it sounded like hitting the wall, how the hinge snapped on impact. The immediate regret, and then— _grief_ , for this pointless shiny thing he loved so much, but also the sick satisfaction that came almost as quickly. It looked like it should, now. It matched him again. "I figured I deserved it."

Quentin's brows draw together. "Eliot—"

"What?" he says flatly. "I— I hurt someone. And there were no consequences."

"It fucked you up so much you dropped out and left everything behind," Quentin says, still frowning. "That doesn't sound like a consequence to you?" Eliot clenches his jaw and looks away, but he can feel Quentin's eyes on him. "Did anyone ever say to you, you know, 'it wasn't your fault'? Like, 'it was an accident' is one thing, but - Eliot," he says, quieter, and Eliot feels a gentle hand on his arm. "You don't have to carry that around. You don't have to punish yourself."

"I'm not," Eliot says, but it's weak and he knows it.

Quentin doesn't let up. "Then why even keep it?"

Eliot looks back down at the cigarette case. He's thought about it before, getting rid of it - he could just drop it off the balcony right now, it'd be easy. But.

Some part of him still remembers being the boy who first laid eyes on it and wanted to be someone it belonged to. If nothing else, he can still cling to that. 

They're both quiet for a long moment, then Quentin moves his hand, reaching out tentatively. "Can I see it?"

After a second of hesitation, Eliot loosens his fingers around the case and lets Quentin take it from him. The anger and guilt simmering in his chest quiets down a little as he watches Quentin turn it over in his hands, thumbing across the engraving, examining the broken hinge. "I could fix this," he says softly, more to himself than to Eliot. "My dad has a ton of tools for building models and stuff. I'm sure there's something small enough for this."

Eliot swallows hard. "What if I don't want it fixed?"

"Then too fucking bad. I'm doing it."

He looks so determined that Eliot can't help smiling. "Okay. But I'm onto you now, so good luck trying to steal it."

Quentin puts on an puzzled look, blinking innocently at him. "Will I need to? You just handed it to me when I asked."

With a playful glare, Eliot snatches it back from him, but Quentin just laughs.

They head back inside shortly after, when a cold breeze starts up that makes them both shiver, and Margo sticks her head out to announce the arrival of some late night takeout. Eliot makes sure to pick up the book to carry over the threshold rather than leave it outside to get blown off the balcony, as much as he'd love to watch it fall several storeys.

Kady and Penny have apparently gone up to bed, but Margo and Alice are still up, sitting together in the living room with a laptop, a new pile of books and a stack of spicy smelling containers steaming on the coffee table. Eliot swaps the book for two of the containers and leads Quentin to sit beside him, across from the girls.

Margo glances at him, eyes darting meaningfully to Quentin and back again, clearly curious about what they were doing on the balcony, but Eliot pretends to be much more interested in their takeout. He passes one container to Quentin, pausing to steal a french fry before he opens his own. "So what's on tonight's reading list?" he asks, with a levity he doesn't even have to fake.

"A mix of Battle Magic guides and Healing techniques," Alice says, barely looking up from her current volume. "We're casting kind of a wide net, but maybe we can combine something…"

"You can do that?" Quentin asks, glancing between them eagerly. "Like, make new spells yourself?"

"Yeah, it's an expansive area of study - magical theory, meta-composition..." Alice does look up then, smiling a little at Quentin. "It wasn't my focus at Brakebills, but I dabbled."

"It's just that most useful things were already thought up and perfected by someone else two-hundred-plus years ago," Eliot explains, grimacing around another stolen fry.

"'Perfected' might be an overstatement," Margo snorts. "But I figure there's no harm in looking into it, if the spell we need doesn't exist."

Eliot settles back into the cushions, propping his feet up on the closest book in the pile. "Alright, what are we calling it? Hanson's Muggle Rescue?"

Margo shoots him a grin. "Quinn's Extremely Specific Curse Breaking?"

"Rhinemann Not-So-Ultra," Alice suggests.

"Remove Curse, But For Real?"

"Sixth Time's The Charm? Dunno if it'll actually count as a charm, though—"

"Okay," Alice cuts in, laughing. "Let's maybe figure out where we're starting from, first."

She picks up the laptop as Margo reopens the book in her lap, sharing one last playful look with Eliot before she gets to work. Eliot floats one textbook over to his side of the couch to help, but mostly ends up letting Quentin read it over his shoulder rather than actually trying to glean anything from it himself.

The quiet research lasts until the last bits of the takeout are cold and the book pile has a sizeable dent. Eliot has fully handed off his own assigned reading to Quentin and is considering getting up to make a strong nightcap when he notices the soft click of laptop keys has stopped. He glances at Alice and finds her staring down at the cursed rune on the cover of the book, still right where Eliot had left it on the table. There's slight furrow in her brow, and Eliot waves his hand to get her attention. "Still with us?"

"Yeah," Alice sighs, shaking her head a little. "It's just… I'm stuck on something Lipson said, about severing the connection."

"You mean when she said its impossible?" Margo says dryly. "Yeah, I think we're all kind of stuck on that one."

But Alice still has a thoughtful expression. After a moment, she turns to Margo with a contemplative look. "Can you get me that advanced Healing theory book? And the curse analysis guide, I just want to check something."

"I'll swap you." Margo tugs the correct books out of the stack and hands them over in return for the laptop. "What are you onto?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "Is there some counter-curse we haven't tried?"

"Something like that," Alice mumbles, opening the first book and scanning the index. "It might be nothing, but if we're already going to have to make up half the spell ourselves, it won't hurt to have more ideas." She glances up at Margo again, frowning. "I'll look into it. You should keep searching for Battle Magic."

"Fuck that, let me help," Margo says, all but tossing her textbook over the back of the couch to set the laptop down instead. "Kady's not the only one with contacts. I hooked up with a girl from Knowledge once. I'm pretty sure meta-composition was her thing."

"At Brakebills?" Alice asks, doubtful. "Will she remember you?"

Margo gives her a wry look. "Honey. I'm _very_ memorable."

Alice flushes pink, then nods and goes back to her books.

Eliot bites back a laugh and sits up a little. "Is there another Battle Magic guide? I'll pick up where you left off."

"Have at it," Margo says with a shrug. "But I'll be honest, I'm not crazy about trying to brute force our way out of this, no matter what Lipson said."

Eliot nods in agreement. He'd rather not put Quentin any more directly in harm's way than he already is.

Margo glances away from him for a moment, pausing with her hands poised over the keyboard, then smiles amusedly. "Besides, you're off the hook for tonight. I think it's bedtime."

Confused, Eliot follows her gaze over to Quentin, who's in the middle of nodding off on the couch beside him. The pages of Eliot's abandoned textbook are slipping through his fingers as he slumps over, not that his eyes are open enough to read them.

Eliot smirks as he tugs the book out of his hands, and Quentin jerks upright, blinking tiredly at him. "I'm awake," he insists, half a yawn.

"Nice try," Margo snorts. Even Alice looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"Come on," Eliot huffs playfully, urging him to his feet. "You should sleep in an actual bed tonight."

"I can help," Quentin persists, even as he lets Eliot direct him around the couch.

"Yeah, maybe when you're not running on fumes and less blood than you started the day with." Eliot pauses to scoop the book up off the coffee table before shooing him over to the stairs. "Let's go, _vamos_."

"Goodnight," Margo sing songs, smiling at them over the back of the couch. "We'll leave some reading for you, I promise."

Quentin seems satisfied enough with that, and yawns again as Eliot shepherds him upstairs.

The bearable book-to-Quentin distance makes getting ready for bed a little difficult. Quentin is so awed at the toothbrush Eliot transfigures for him that he doesn't seem to mind sharing the counter space, at least, but then there is the factor of Todd's vacant room being furthest down the hall from Eliot's. After a few minutes of considering different ways to keep the book at a safe yet un-tempting distance for Quentin to be left to unsupervised, Eliot decides it isn't worth the effort when a much simpler option exists, and ushers Quentin into his bedroom.

Quentin is distracted almost immediately by curiosity, taking in all of Eliot's various fabrics and trinkets and suspiciously authentic vintage furniture. Eliot takes the opportunity to change into a robe and cast a quick warming spell at the foot of his bed. He briefly considers transfiguring the duvet into a cot or something for Quentin, but dismisses it. That's way more work than it's worth for this time of night, and his bed is easily big enough for them both, after all.

He catches himself thinking about the night before, when getting Quentin into bed would've been completely in line with his intentions, but shoves the thought away as Quentin finally zeroes in on the pile of cushy pillows. Eliot expects him to be a little shy about the idea of bunking together, but he's apparently tired enough that after kicking off his jeans he climbs onto Eliot's bed with no hesitation and flops down.

Eliot bites back a smile and approaches the bedside table, depositing his pocket contents there while Quentin rolls onto his back. Almost as soon as he puts the cigarette case down, Quentin snakes a hand out to pick it up.

Eliot gives him an exaggerated sideways glance but Quentin just laughs. "I'm not stealing it yet, I swear."

"You better not," Eliot warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. "It'd be unfair to try it while I'm at a disadvantage."

"Hey, we're both tired," Quentin says, rubbing his eyes. "It's an even playing field."

Eliot places the book down on the lamp stand and pauses there, resting one hand on the cover. "I meant having recently spilled my deepest, darkest, most personal guts, but yeah, that too."

"Oh." He hears Quentin shift on the bedspread. "Well, I'm, you know. I'm glad you told me. I mean, not _glad_ ," he says quickly, "but— you didn't have to."

Eliot glances back at him, takes in his painfully earnest expression and— feels something in him unwind, just a little. "Well, everyone's got a shitty story about institutions of higher education, right?" he sighs, turning the bedside lamp on before he flips the lights off with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, remind me to never tell you about the time _I_ almost dropped out of college," Quentin mumbles, then immediately scrubs a hand over his face. "God— sorry, that's not funny."

"It is, a little bit." And Eliot honestly appreciates the shift of focus off of him. He grins as he joins Quentin on the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. "I get it, I'm a tough act to follow. Tell me, what made _you_ reconsider academia?"

Quentin shrugs, eyes back on the cigarette case, running his fingers slowly over the engraving. "Nothing, I was just... really depressed for a while." 

Eliot sits up a little, frowning. "That's not nothing." 

"I guess. But— it's fine now," Quentin says quickly, seeming to notice Eliot's mounting concern. "It's under control, Julia helps me keep on top of it and… the bookstore helps a lot, too. You know, having something that needs you to function makes it easier to, like. Remember to." He looks at Eliot, a little wry, a little vulnerable. "I don't suppose there's any spells for stuff like this, are there?"

Eliot drops his gaze, focusing instead on relaxing his hand where he'd clenched it in the sheets. "It doesn't work like that."

"I figured," Quentin sighs, the barest hint of disappointment slipping into his voice. Eliot swallows hard. "Well, magic is still pretty cool even if it can't cure depression. I mean, just knowing it's _there_ is…" He breathes out a laugh. "It blows my mind every time I remember. Honestly, it kind of feels like… I should've known, or something."

Eliot glances up at that, but Quentin is looking at the case again. "About magic?"

"Yeah. Like, if I had just looked harder, or paid more attention, I could've seen it."

"That's not really fair to you," Eliot points out. "We're all pretty dedicated to flying under the radar."

"I know. But it's all so… so _much_ , you know?" He turns the case over, thumbing over the engraving again. "Despite everything, I can't help feeling like— like it was worth it." He gives Eliot a tentative smile.

Eliot returns it, tilting his head at him. "What was?"

"Getting cursed," Quentin says easily. "I mean, to find out about all this? About magic?" He has that awed look again, and Eliot can't help softening under it, even as guilt roils in his chest. 

Maybe to Quentin it's a fair price to have his entire world changed before his eyes, the blinders pulled away. But even if they deal with the curse, even if Eliot manages to fix what he broke— the memory charm still looms in the back of his mind, Margo's words from earlier hanging off it. _You know it's the best option. For us and for him._ He's still going to have to take back what he gave to him.

Not quite yet, though. They have another day, at least.

"Get back to me about it once we're past the mortal peril stage," Eliot says, managing to keep his voice light. He flicks the lamp off before Quentin can catch the brittle edge of his smile.

"I will," Quentin snickers. Eliot hears the quiet _clunk_ of him setting the cigarette case down, and feels more than sees him slip further under the sheets to settle on his side. After a few seconds he speaks up again, already sounding closer to sleep. "What happens tomorrow?"

As his eyes adjust to the dark, Eliot can just see the curve of his shoulder, and his hair fanned out on the pillow. "We'll see what Alice and Margo came up with, or if Kady has any more leads. Then we'll probably start laying out spellcraft."

Quentin hums. "I bet I'm the first not-Magician to help make up a new spell."

"Yes, very prestigious," Eliot says, rolling his eyes - Quentin probably can't see him do it, but he's sure the idea gets across. "Don't get your hopes up for it getting named after you, though. I think Margo is gunning for that."

"Just put me in the 'special thanks' section, that's all I ask."

Eliot can almost pick out the bow of his mouth now, the curl of his fingers in the sheets between them. "Quentin," he says softly, lying down properly to face him in the dark. "Listen, whatever happens... I swear we'll get you out of this."

"I know," Quentin says. He's still smiling. "I've never doubted that. Even when I kind of thought you were just, like, pulling my leg. I knew you weren't going to leave without… you know. Helping me."

God, Eliot really fucking hopes he's right. He stays awake long after Quentin's breathing evens out, keeping watch until sleep drags him down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up i'm extremely not good at keeping track of days! the final chapter(s) of this fic are now done For Real so over the next week i think i can post the whole dang rest of it.  
> in this chapter i fully hit the Just completely making shit up threshold about magic, which was a lot of fun! and the hedges finally have a plan for dealing with the curse.

Eliot wakes up to soft knocking and someone else's hair in his mouth. It takes a few long seconds, and another couple knocks, for him to remember where he is and who's in his bed - Quentin has curled towards him in his sleep, and is now almost tucked against Eliot's chest, snoring softly into the sheets. Eliot's arm is slung over the dip of his waist like he had been keeping him close. Eliot just— stares at him for a moment, at the crown of his head and the line of his hip under the sheets, until a third bout of knocking reminds him why he woke up in the first place.

He slips carefully out of bed, making sure not to disturb Quentin, and pads quietly over to the door, opening it just as Margo is raising her fist again. She looks poised to make whatever announcement she came to deliver, but pauses, giving him an almost surprised once over. "I thought you were taking your sweet time putting pants on."

Eliot lounges against the doorframe, putting on as close to a seductive look as he can manage while squinting in the light. "For you? Never."

She glances past him into the bedroom, raising a suspicious eyebrow. She probably can't see Quentin from where she's standing, but Eliot feels his face go hot anyway, and quickly steps out into the hall with her, closing the door softly behind himself. "What do you need at such an ungodly hour as this?" he asks, trying for a bored tone, but it comes out in a huff.

"I haven't even gone to bed yet, fuck you very much," Margo says flatly. She really is still in her clothes from the day before, but she looks more impatient than tired. "Come on, we need you downstairs."

Eliot frowns. "What for?"

Margo rolls her eyes. "A fucking tea party, El. What do you think?" And with that, she marches off to bang on Penny's door instead.

Something important, then. Maybe she and Alice really did find a good lead on a spell, or maybe Kady has another favour to call in. Whatever it is, Eliot figures he probably should put on pants after all.

He ducks back into his room to dress quickly, picking up his cigarette case from the side table and tucking it securely into his vest - then pauses to check on Quentin. He's still asleep, curling into the warm spot Eliot left on the bed. His hair is falling into his face, sleep mussed but soft when Eliot reaches out, almost unconsciously, to brush it away from his brow. He makes himself move away, after that.

In the hall he catches Penny coming out of his own room, looking half-asleep and mostly annoyed, and waves him over. Penny seems a little wary of following Eliot into his bedroom but Eliot supposes it's a fair enough apprehension, considering he's swallowing past his own flare of nervousness as he shows Penny inside.

If he's surprised to see Quentin in Eliot's bed, Penny thankfully doesn't say anything. Eliot feels an anxious need to explain himself, to point out how close the book has to be kept, how Quentin can't be left alone with it, how he promised he would fix this— 

"Keep an eye on him," he murmurs instead. Penny nods easily enough. 

With one last look at Quentin's sleeping form curled up in his sheets, Eliot turns away to follow Margo downstairs.

She and Alice are crowded together around the laptop when he gets to the landing, with Kady leaning over the couch behind them. All three of them look up when he comes near and abruptly cut off whatever discussion they were having. The sudden silence doesn't exactly do wonders for the tension already winding up in his gut. 

Alice breaks it first. "Morning," she greets, giving him a smile that’s only a little bit strained. She doesn't look like she slept much either. "Where's Quentin?"

"Still asleep." Eliot meets Kady's askant gaze with what he hopes is cool composure, and ignores Margo's raised eyebrows again. "Are you looping me in, or do I have time to make coffee?"

"We're just catching each other up," Kady says, pushing off the back of the couch. "Some breakthroughs were made last night."

The tension winds a bit tighter. "When I left, they were just starting in on magical theory. What happened with sexting Margo's ex-hook up?"

"She was very helpful," Margo says loftily. "She sent us a guideline for reshaping basic spellwork. Of course, what _we're_ doing is a bit beyond that, but that's what Alice is for, right?" She winks, and Alice turns a bit pink.

"So we know what we're doing, then?" Eliot asks, glancing between them. "The counter-curse you were looking for?"

"I never said it was a counter-curse," Alice points out.

Eliot frowns at her. "What, then? Are we taking Lipson's advice?" His stomach drops a little at the thought. He'd been hoping that Alice was taking things in a direction away from putting Quentin directly into the line of fire.

"Not exactly," Kady says, haltingly. "They did find a spell, but it's not a counter-curse, or Battle Magic."

Alice leans over to pick up an open book discarded face down on the couch. "It's kind of a repurposed Healing technique," she says, then hesitates before holding the book out to Eliot. "It will let us draw out Quentin's life essence."

Eliot stares at her, sure he must have misheard. "Why the fuck would we do that?"

"Just hear us out," Kady steps in. "Rather than trying to take the book out of the equation, maybe we can take Quentin out instead. With nothing left to feed off of, the curse should react as if it's run its full course, and end. Once we're sure the tether is gone, we'll revive him."

Alice nods along eagerly. "The initial spell is pretty delicate, but together we should be able to keep it steady - Lipson did mention cooperative casting—"

"Back up," Eliot cuts her off, glaring around at the three of them. "Last I checked, life essence wasn't something that's supposed to come out."

"I know it sounds dramatic," Margo says, holding up a hand. "It's really just a loophole. It only has to work long enough to trick the book into thinking he died."

"I seem to remember Lipson explicitly telling us there _were no loopholes_ for something like this," Eliot stresses.

"She meant illusions, death-like sleep, things like that. This is different," Kady insists. "Quentin will really be dead for a minute."

Eliot drags a hand over his face, his stomach sinking even further. How did they end up here, considering _this_ , of all things, as a viable option? "Okay, how— how do we revive him? How do we make sure his essence doesn't fuck off into the ether as soon as we take it out?"

"I found this," Alice says hurriedly, placing the laptop on the table and turning it to show him. Eliot leans in for a closer look at the page she has open - an Etsy listing for a long glass vial inscribed with delicate spellwork script. "It's a Healer's flask I read about, usually used to quickly spread antidotes through the body."

"We're gonna use it like enchanted tupperware," Margo explains. "Seal his essence inside until it's time to put it back, then let the flask do it's thing. He should be fine."

Eliot narrows his eyes. " _Should_ be?"

Margo frowns at him. "Look, the worst case scenario is we revive him and he's still cursed."

"No, the worst case is we try this and it _kills him_ ," Eliot snaps.

Kady steps up, giving him a hard look. "We won't let that happen." She looks so determined, and if anyone could will something into being just by saying so, it's her— but Eliot knows it's not that easy, no matter how much he wants to believe her. She seems to watch the conflict cross his face, and her expression softens a little. "We've come this far, Eliot. I never said this was ideal, but it's all we've got right now. He's running out of time."

"I know he is," Eliot huffs. As if he could possibly be anything less than painfully aware of that.

Margo reaches out to touch his hand, curling her fingers around his. "We wouldn't have suggested it if we didn't think it would work, El." 

"But you don't know for sure," Eliot points out, louder than he means to. "Is it a risk worth literally killing him for?"

Before anyone can answer, approaching footsteps make them all look up, and Quentin appears at the bottom of the staircase. He freezes when he notices the others staring. Penny, following close behind with a harried sort of expression and the book in his hands, very nearly runs into him.

"Good timing," Margo says quickly, standing up before the silence can really settle and waving them over. "Penny, we need a ride to Queens."

Penny glances between her and Eliot, lost. "Uh, why?"

"We gotta track down this Etsy witch," Margo huffs, urging Alice up off the couch as well. "He says same day shipping, but he also wants to charge thirty bucks, and I'm a little skeptical."

Kady gives him an apologetic sort of smile as she passes. "There's a bit of a shopping list. We'll explain on the way."

Penny rolls his eyes but presses the book into Quentin's arms to heads over to her. "Whatever, but you're buying coffee."

Margo pauses just long enough to tug Eliot down and kiss his cheek, then flounces away. In her wake, Alice comes up as well, holding out a spiral notebook. "These are all the descriptions and spell forms," she says, and Eliot takes it, nodding in thanks. "The setup Margo got us is there, too. You can look it over while we're gone."

"Chop chop," Margo calls, holding onto Penny with one hand and flapping the other at Alice until she hurries over to take it.

"We won't be long," Kady says, glancing at Quentin and then, more meaningfully, at Eliot. "Don't go anywhere."

They disappear before Eliot can do much more than frown - and then it's just him and Quentin, alone in the penthouse. Quentin seems even more lost than Penny was, which Eliot supposes is fair. He smiles, mentally unruffling, and comes closer to take the book out of his hands. "So. Breakfast?"

Quentin lets him take it, nodding in a tiredly-overwhelmed sort of way. Eliot gives him a sympathetic look and leads the way to the kitchen. "What can I make you?"

"Just... whatever, I guess," Quentin mumbles, glancing at the cabinets for a moment, then he shrugs. "I'm cool with, like, cereal."

So Eliot makes a quick and somewhat prejudiced batch of _pain perdu_ , with powdered sugar and cinnamon and the last of Todd's strawberries hidden in the back of the fridge.

"I promise he won't care," Eliot says, rolling his eyes as he rinses the frying pan in the sink. Quentin sits on the counter beside him, swiping a bit of crust through the last of the syrup on his plate before handing it off to be placed in the soapy water. "Or, if he does, he won't bring it up."

Quentin snickers around his mouthful. "So is he scared of you, or what?"

"God, if only," Eliot gripes. "No, Todd is… 'a character' seems too generous."

Quentin snorts. "Ouch."

"You'd understand if you met him," Eliot insists, trying his best to sound serious while biting back a grin. "He's a menace. He's most useful when he's staying out of the way."

"Is that why he’s not with the others on the, um, magical grocery run? Or whatever they're doing?" Quentin glances down at Alice's notebook, resting beside him on the counter. The other, more hazardous book is on the other side of the sink, where it's less likely to get dripped on.

"They're picking up spell components," Eliot explains, drying his hands. "Congrats, by the way. You're about to be cured."

"Oh— you mean today?" Quentin blinks. "Wow, I thought we had to... I really expected it to take longer."

Eliot nods sagely. "Yeah, Alice can be kind of... _intense_ , shall we say, when she's set on something. Margo too, come to think of it."

"I'll have to thank them." Quentin picks up the notebook and flips through it, brow furrowed over the pages and pages of diagrams and calculations. "So— how does it work?"

This is the part Eliot wasn't looking forward to. He leans his elbow on the counter, peering down at Alice's notes so he doesn't have to look at Quentin. "Well, as you can see, that's kind of a big question."

"Come on," Quentin laughs. "You can even give me, like, the CliffsNotes version. I just want to have an idea of what’s going on." Eliot watches his thumb brush over one of the sigils Alice has sketched out. "I'm the one it's getting cast on, aren't I?"

He's right, as much as Eliot wishes he wasn't. Ignoring the slow twist of his insides becoming knots, Eliot takes a deep breath and starts to lay it out.

Quentin listens carefully while he explains the plan - the altered spell, the flask, the revivifying - but doesn't ask any questions. Eliot is more concerned by this and the loss of his usual fascinated look than anything else, but getting told the main strategy for saving your life involves killing you first probably isn't much of a rush.

"I know it seems counter-intuitive," he sighs, when they've reached the final page of Alice's notes. "But it's our best shot."

Quentin nods, keeping his eyes on the notebook. "Well, it sounds a bit more... controlled, than getting potentially blown up— or whatever the other plan was."

Eliot watches his face, the anxious crease between his eyebrows, the thin line of his mouth. "But?"

"It's— well. I mean, I know its temporary - the life essence thing - I just…" He forces out a breath and hesitates for a second before he looks up at Eliot. "There was a time in my life when I would've jumped at the chance to— you know. Die without having to do anything. But now, I… I don't know."

"We can find another way," Eliot says quickly, stomach sinking, but Quentin glances away, shaking his head like he had expected Eliot to offer.

"No, it's okay. I can… I can deal." He nods a little, more to himself than to Eliot. "I can be brave for, like, five minutes, or whatever."

Personally, Eliot thinks he's been brave for a lot longer than that, but Quentin is already flipping through Alice's notes again. He pauses on a page of runes and diagrams. "Are you setting this up? This triangle thing?"

"The sigil, yeah." And then, because Quentin still looks kind of hesitant but there's eagerness there too, like always— "Want to help?"

Quentin may not be able to cast spells, but he's at least capable of holding the mortar steady as Eliot crumbles bay leaves and clay into it, and of measuring out equal parts ink and oil to add. Eliot whispers an enchantment and dips his fingers into the mixture, turning it a deep red. It doesn't look especially cheerful as Eliot draws out the main circle on the floor, but Quentin doesn't hesitate to dunk his fingers into the bowl as well. He sits in the center of the triangle Eliot marks around him, consulting the notebook carefully before placing smaller symbols on each point. Eliot watches him swipe his fingers through each rune and feels strangely warm. It's like he's part of the spell this way, even without magic of his own.

Once the sigil is complete, they set out candles and small golden bowls at five points, to hold the main spell components. Quentin mutters something about eye of newt that Eliot doesn't quite catch, but he seems relieved when Eliot fills first two bowls with water and wine. The third, however, gets a fistful of graveyard dirt, which Quentin is clearly wary of.

"You guys just have that on hand?" he asks, giving the bowl a distrustful look.

"It's a surprisingly versatile ingredient, if a little macabre," Eliot says, smirking when Quentin grimaces. "Just be glad this spell doesn't require dead man's bone. It's much harder to come by and not nearly so pleasant to touch."

Quentin gives the two remaining bowls a nervous glance. "What else _does_ the spell need?"

"Nothing quite so morbid," Eliot assures him. Quentin doesn't seem fully convinced, but before Eliot can assuage his fears, he senses motion against the wards and looks up.

A second later, four sets of footsteps are coming down the hall to join them, Kady leading the way. She looks impressed when she sees the casting sigil already laid out. "Did you guys get bored, or what?"

"Figured we'd save you some time," Eliot says, dusting off his hands and standing up as the others file in behind her. "You got the flask?"

Margo holds up a short wooden box. "The seller even gave us a discount, in exchange for my number. Well, Penny's number."

Penny chokes on his coffee. "You said you gave him a fake one!"

"I panicked," Margo says, batting her eyelashes at him before turning back to Eliot. "Anyway, we got the rest of the stuff too. Our gemstone guy still isn't big on packing materials, though."

Somewhat disdainfully, Kady pulls out a small Ziploc full of tiny, stud-sized diamonds. Eliot isn't sure whether the contents or packaging is more baffling to Quentin. Kady crouches down at the edge of the circle to pour the diamonds into the fourth bowl, then moves to the last one, brandishing what looks like a small bundle of twigs.

"Part of a crow's nest," Alice explains, when Quentin leans over for a closer look. "Don't worry, we traded for it."

Quentin frowns confusedly. "You traded— with who, the crow?"

"Yeah, it wanted a knife, but Kady talked it down," Penny says, which doesn't make Quentin look any less concerned. "We got it a really shiny quarter instead."

"Are we ready to do this?" Kady asks, holding the twigs over the final bowl. She looks around at all of them but her eyes linger on Quentin. "I assume Eliot told you the game plan. If you need a minute—"

"No," Quentin says quickly, stepping forward. "I'm ready, let's do it. How do we start?"

Eliot feels that strange warmth again, watching him move determinedly into the center of the sigil where Kady directs him to sit down. He must be terrified, literally about to look death in the face, but aside from his clenched fists he seems resolute in not showing any sign of it - for their sake or his own, Eliot isn't sure.

At Alice's insistence, he joins the others in discarding their jewelry and emptying their pockets on the coffee table to minimise the risk that anything react unexpectedly with the spell. Eliot gives the cigarette case a quick caress before he leaves it beside Kady's runestone and Margo's unenchanted-but-still-statement earrings, then picks up the book and takes his place around the sigil.

They each stand in one of the five spaces between the golden bowls, candles flickering at their feet. Margo, at his right, opens the flask and places it on the floor in front of Quentin. Eliot puts the book down opposite it and sneaks a glance at him.

He still has an air of stubborn calm, but Eliot can tell anxiety is building in him. He taps his fingers on his knees while he watches Kady drop the twigs into the last empty bowl, where they promptly burst into flame. The rest of the room beyond their circle seems to dim. 

On Eliot's other side, Alice moves into the circle to crouch beside Quentin. "I'm going to put you to sleep, before we start," she says softly. "It's better that you're entirely relaxed while we're casting."

Quentin nods in agreement, but glances hesitantly around at the others. "Can I, um, say something first? Nothing bad," he adds quickly, when Kady starts to look apprehensive, "I just want to— you know, you guys didn't have to do any of this—"

Eliot immediately opens his mouth to protest, but Margo beats him to the punch. "Of course we did," she says, rolling her eyes, though her words are warm. Eliot remembers how stiff she had been around Quentin even just a day ago, and feels a wave of affection for her.

Quentin smiles, cheeks a little pink. "I just mean— this has been, uh. Really weird, mostly. But also incredible. I mean, aside from the curse stuff. So…" He looks around the circle again, and his gaze stops on Eliot. "Thank you."

"Don't thank us yet," Penny huffs, but he's smiling a bit too, like he can't help it. "You can say it again when you wake up."

"Right," Quentin says, and looks down. "Well. See you in a bit, I guess."

Eliot is struck by the urge to say something to him, assure him one more time, or just get him to look up again - but he's closing his eyes as Alice casts her sleeping charm, and then it's too late.

Alice helps Quentin lie back as he goes limp, then stands up, takes a deep breath and raises her hands. The rest of them do the same. "Ready?"

"Quinn's Extremely Specific Curse Breaking," Margo says, looking determined. "Take one."

They move through the tuts in unison, chanting quiet Latin as the fire in one bowl spreads to the other four. Eliot feels the power of the spell twisting between them, settling in the center of the circle around Quentin. He doesn't stir, but after a few seconds he seems to exhale, and small silver clouds start to seep out of his mouth.

Eliot realizes with a jolt that that's it, his life leaving him, literally— he tamps down hard on the panic that edges in on him, willing his hands to stay as steady as the others'. This isn't like the last time, he tells himself firmly. You're in control. You won't hurt him.

Quentin's life essence rises out of him in shimmering wisps, curling in the air like streams of smoke off a candle wick. It swirls above his body in no distinct pattern but with a manner of sentience, almost, like it's as curious about them as they are about it.

"It's working," Alice breathes, relieved. "Let's transfer it into the flask."

"Carefully," Kady reminds them, as they spread their hands again. The runes on the flask begin to glow as the first bit of essence flows into it.

It's slow going - Eliot gets the impression that none of them want to risk forcing it. The spell is taking most of his concentration as it is, but there's something else— something tugging at the edge of it, like his grip is slipping.

At Quentin's feet, the book suddenly springs open, pages turning themselves faster than anyone could read. Eliot feels another stronger pull and watches as the collected stream of essence starts to veer away from the flask, drawn instead towards the book.

"It's still trying to drain him," he grunts, straining to hold the spell steady. "What do we do?"

Beside him, Margo huffs in annoyance and effort. "Did Lipson say anything about the book being a sore fucking loser?"

"Stay focused," Kady barks. "We can push it back."

"No, concentrate on the flask," Alice insists, but the book is nearing its final pages, and Eliot feels the spell splintering as they pull in different directions. He can see the wisps hovering, uncertain - he's losing his grip on them - they're going to slip through his fingers, Quentin is going to— 

Desperately shoving that thought away, Eliot drops the spell. The flames over the five bowls abruptly go out and everyone staggers a little, gasping as the connection is broken. Eliot ignores the wrench of it and reaches out with his magic alone.

Quentin's essence isn't a hard object he can grasp with telekinesis and send flying easily into his hands, but he can still feel it, the soft edges of it, nudging against the field he envelops it in. He gathers the wisps into a shimmering ball as gently as he can with his heart beating in his throat. He can still sense the book trying to drag it away, and barely thinks before pulling it closer to himself instead. Curling his fingers, he hopes it knows, somehow, that he'll keep it safe, that he promised—

And the wisps let themselves be drawn in, until the little sphere full of smoke and clouds hovers in Eliot's cupped hands. It's glowing a little, he realizes - whether that’s something all life essence does, or just Quentin's, he's not sure - and still swirling around itself. He hardly dares to breathe as he holds it, but he can feel it, cool against his fingers, soft and fluid against his magic.

"Eliot, look—" He glances down to where everyone else is staring. The book is turning through its pages again but backwards this time, and much weaker than the frantic flipping before, as if it's in its death throes. The front cover falls closed almost eerily slow, the rune flashing - or maybe it's just a trick of the candlelight - and then it lies still.

Alice fumbles for a glass lens and holds it up with shaking hands to peer through. "It's gone," she says breathlessly. "The tether is gone! We did it, the curse is broken—"

"Thank _christ_ ," Margo sighs, tipping her head back in exhaustion. Beside her, Penny slumps over with his hands on his knees, and Kady pats his shoulder as she catches her breath. "I thought we were about to lose it there. You really cinched it, El."

"It was amazing," Alice agrees, turning to him. "The spell might not have to require a container after all. How did you know—"

"Could we maybe save the debriefing for later?" Eliot asks tightly, lifting the shimmering, rolling cloud suspended in his hands. "What do I do with this?"

"Put it in the flask," Penny suggests, reaching for the discarded vial.

"He can't, the spell ended," Alice says with a frown. "We'd have to start it over."

Kady shakes her head. "We don't have time for that. Life essence isn't supposed to be removed in the first place. The longer it's out the more it'll dissipate." She gives Eliot an urgent look. "You'll have to put it back inside him yourself."

Eliot glances between the glowing wisps and Quentin's body, swallowing hard before he steps forward to stand over him. "How?"

"Just… bring it closer to him. Maybe it'll reverse itself."

Letting out a long breath, Eliot kneels down at Quentin's side, trying not to pay too much attention to how still he is, how pale— He looks back at the essence in his hands, then slowly brings it down over Quentin's chest.

He feels a tiny tug, not like it's trying to slip through his fingers, but like it's eager to be let out all the same. Eliot spreads his hands, loosening his hold, and watches the wisps split apart between them, becoming smoke-like again. There's another tug after that, but he's not sure what to do with it. The essence is there, settled over Quentin, but not returning to his body.

Penny leans over to look, frowning warily. "Why isn't it waking him up?"

"I don't know," Eliot snaps. "I let go of it, but it's not— it's not working." If he can't fix this— If Quentin dies after everything they did— 

"How was the flask supposed to do it?" Margo asks, an anxious edge to her voice.

"I-I'm not sure," Alice admits, frantic. "It just— it has to carry through him. It has to spread outwards."

Eliot glances at Quentin's face, lit by the candles around the circle and the faint glow of the curling smoke between them. Then he takes another shaky breath and reaches out with his magic again.

The essence nudges against his hold, familiar with him now, and swirls in his hands when he holds them out. It's soft like before, but there's more than that— Eliot lets his magic press in, flowing through it like it curls around his fingers. It feels a bit like Quentin does, and the more Eliot thinks about it the more sure he is. Stubborn and curious and trusting. Willing to let Eliot show him the way.

He guides the essence down to Quentin's chest again, spreading his hands there, and then urges it deeper. The wisps sink into him and out of sight, but Eliot can still feel them at the edge of his fingers, his magic still wrapped around the shimmering smoke. He closes his eyes, imagining the shimmer spreading through Quentin's body, out from his chest and down his legs and arms. He feels his magic gently guiding it back into place, back to where it belongs, until every bit of Quentin is lit up— and there's something revealed in it, a spark he didn't feel before— 

And then it's blinding, a jolt that sends Eliot back to himself, and he opens his eyes a split second before Quentin does.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall: i'm so relieved that quentin is finally safe :D  
> me, knowing there's still 15k left: He Sure Is !  
> anyway in this chapter, eliot "deals" with his "feelings" and it's "fine"

Quentin drags in a great breath of air, then coughs most of it out. A collective sigh goes around the circle, but Eliot barely pays any attention - he takes Quentin's arm to help him sit up, glad that between his hitched and gasping breaths he probably can't hear how hard Eliot's heart is pounding.

He's _alive_ , he's breathing again, his hand is gripping Eliot's hard, and that's all that matters.

"There he is," Margo laughs, kneeling down to rub Quentin's back. "How do you feel?"

Quentin coughs wheezily and looks up at her with a grimace. "Sort of like I died," he croaks.

Eliot and Margo help him to his feet while Kady bends down to pick up the book, giving it a triumphant sort of seething look. "Well, you're officially un-cursed."

"Oh, good," Quentin says, letting himself be half-carried to the couch. "It would kind of suck if I wasn't, after all that." He slumps into the cushions and groans appreciatively.

Penny gives him an amused look. "Why are you so wiped? We did all the hard work."

"Did you miss the part where he _died_ , you dick?" Margo chides him. "I'm sure getting revived isn't much of a party, either."

Eliot crouches on the floor in front of Quentin, searching his face for signs of pain almost reflexively. He looks more unfocused than anything, and Eliot slips his hand out of Quentin's slackened grip to brush his thumb across his cheek. Quentin blinks and zeroes in on him with some effort, then gives him a weak but earnest smile, and Eliot's heart thuds painfully as he takes his hand back.

"Did it hurt at all?" Alice asks, stepping closer to the couch.

"I don't think so," Quentin says, bringing a hand up to his forehead. "I don't remember it hurting, at least? I closed my eyes, and then… I think I was dreaming."

"Uh oh," Penny snickers. "Did you see a tunnel with a light at the end?"

Margo smacks him, but Quentin shakes his head. "No, it was dark. I couldn't see anything. It was like I was floating." He drops his hand and looks down at his lap, brow furrowed. "I… I knew someone was there, though. I could feel it. And then there was a— a flash, or something, and I woke up on the floor."

Alice hums, frowning curiously at him. "It could've been your mind just trying to fill in the gaps, or maybe your subconscious was aware of us casting the spell around you. I'm not really sure."

"What matters is that it's over now," Kady says, passing behind the couch, giving Quentin's shoulder an approving squeeze as she goes. "I can't say I really want to look at this thing any longer than I have to, so I'm gonna go deliver the book before it decides to take a bite out of anyone else. Penny?"

Penny rolls his eyes as he follows after her. "The field trip earlier wasn't enough? You're gonna make me visit Baba Yaga too?"

"Come on, she'll be happy to see us."

"I'm just saying the book's not the only thing into taking bites. She always looks like she wants to eat me, or something—"

A second later they've disappeared, leaving Quentin staring at the empty space they left. "Who did they say they're visiting?" he asks, faintly alarmed.

"Landlord," Margo says, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it." She sits on the arm of the couch to give Quentin's head a soothing pat, and he leans back into the cushions with a look like he doesn't quite have the energy to fight about it.

"Can we get you anything?" Alice asks, still frowning. "A pillow, or something? A drink?"

"A really stiff drink?" Margo suggests.

Quentin breathes a laugh. "I'm okay, just... tired."

Alice nods, backing away from the couch towards the hallway. "I can probably help with that. I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," Quentin calls weakly after her.

Eliot glances from her retreating form back to Quentin, only to find Quentin already gazing at him. He looks a little shy at having been caught, but he doesn't look away - instead he smiles again, soft, and Eliot very abruptly can't take it.

"Speaking of stiff drinks," he says rigidly, standing up in a hurry, "I'm long overdue for one." Margo gives him a suspicious look but Eliot turns away from them both, leaving them on the couch as he heads into the kitchen without waiting for a response.

He only notices when he's pouring the whiskey that his hands are trembling, and has to put the bottle down before he spills it. He leans his palms on the counter and hangs his head, drawing in a deep, steadying breath that doesn't do much to hold off the wave of barely-suppressed emotion crashing over him now that he's alone.

He can’t stop thinking about how close that was. How Quentin looked, pale and motionless, how it felt to have his insides wrenched apart by the thought that Quentin might not make it. But he did make it, and Eliot is relieved, of _course_ he's relieved, of course there's an unimaginable weight lifted from his shoulders— but he can't help reminding himself that Quentin only got into this because of him. And, god, surely he'll be glad to get away, to go back to his bookstore where it's warm and safe and nobody gets cursed.

For once, the thought of casting the memory charm on Quentin doesn't fill Eliot entirely with dread.

Straightening up, he sighs through his nose as he runs a smoothing hand down over his tie and vest. He notices with a panicked jolt that the familiar hard shape of his cigarette case is missing before he remembers that he discarded it on the coffee table before they started casting. He moves away from the counter, wondering briefly if using telekinesis to grab it from the doorway would be too conspicuous - but he doesn't get a chance to decide before Margo enters the kitchen, still wearing the same suspicious look. Eliot turns away as nonchalantly as he can manage within five feet of her, going back to the bottle of whiskey he'd abandoned.

"Joining me, Bambi? You can have this one." He pours another finger out with only minimal tremors. "Grab me another glass, will you?"

"It's a little early for hard liquor, El," Margo chides.

Eliot snorts. "As if you've ever cared about that."

He can almost hear her eyes narrowing. "Are you okay?" She joins him at the counter, staring hard at the side of his head while he throws the drink back.

The burn of it going down his throat is almost soothing. He puts the glass down and moves to pour another. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Eliot." Margo pulls his hand away from the bottle and rests it on the countertop, under her own. "Cut the bullshit for a second."

Eliot does look at her then, trying very hard not to glare. Margo stares back, unflinching. "Are you telling me you're completely fine with everything that's happened this morning?" she asks, searching his face. "Not to mention the past two days? It hasn't exactly been a cakewalk for any of us."

"Yes, well," Eliot sighs, tapping his fingers along the glass. "It's over and done with now, isn't it?"

"That's what I'm wondering." She gives him an expectant look. Eliot has an uncomfortable inkling of what she's getting at, but keeps his face carefully blank until she huffs impatiently. "I have eyes, El. You and Quentin—"

Eliot's stomach twists, and he pulls his hand away. "I told you before, it's not like that."

"Maybe it wasn't then," Margo allows, stepping closer to him. "But now? The way he looks at you?"

"He's been starry-eyed over all of us," Eliot reminds her, frowning at his empty glass. "It's magic, Margo, how do you expect him to react?"

But Margo doesn't back down. "What about you, then?"

"What _about_ me?" He glances back to find her staring at him almost incredulously, shaking her head.

"You're really gonna play dumb?"

"I'm not," Eliot insists, turning to face her. "What do you want me to say, Bambi? You're the one who insisted it was a bad idea to get involved, and I didn't. Now the curse is broken, the book is out of our hands, and I, for one, am ready to spend a few days relaxing before the next magical rent cheque is due." He twists the cap back onto the bottle and moves past her to return it to the liquor cabinet.

"And what about Quentin?" she asks.

Eliot pauses, steeling himself, swallowing hard before trusting his voice to work. "I promised you I'd deal with it, didn't I? I'll take him home as soon as he can stand up without baby-giraffe-ing all over the place. After the memory charm, he won't have to worry about any of this, either." He turns back around, pasting on a thin smile. "We can all move on and get back to our lives. Everything goes back to normal."

Margo looks back at him sadly, something like pity pinching her brows. "Is that what you really want?"

"Of course it is," Eliot says, unsure who he’s really trying to convince anymore. "He's been through enough."

He turns away before Margo can say anything else, and when Alice passes the doorway he ducks out to follow her back to the living room. Quentin is right where they left him, curled up and fidgeting with something, but he looks up from it when Alice holds out a small vial of orange liquid.

"Gatorade?" he guesses, a little hopefully.

"Not quite," Alice says, smiling as she uncorks it for him. "It's an energizing potion. A pretty small dose, but it should put you back on your feet."

"Magic Gatorade," Quentin mumbles, and he puts down what he’d been fiddling with to take it from her - Eliot recognizes the smooth edge of his cigarette case glinting in Quentin's lap with a hint of amusement. He must have snagged it off the table as soon as Eliot left the room. Quentin downs the vial and blinks a couple times before making a sour face. "What's in this?"

"Definitely not Gatorade," Alice tells him, raising an eyebrow. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, actually," Quentin says, looking down at his hands as he flexes them. After a few seconds he pushes himself up from the couch, completely steady, and grins at her. "Wow. I feel like I could do laps, or something."

"Let's not push it," Margo says dryly, wandering over to join them. She gives Quentin a playful once-over. "Damn, Alice. I guess I won't have to bridal-carry him out of here after all."

Alice rolls her eyes with a wry smile. "Sorry, next time I won't bother."

But there's not going to be a next time, and Eliot's mouth goes dry at the thought, all traces of amusement evaporating. Suddenly the idea of standing around any longer is unbearable, and he wants nothing more than to just get a move on. What's the point of stalling the inevitable?

"If you're ready to head out, I'll take you home," he says, as casually as he can manage.

Quentin looks up at him, surprised. "Um… right now?"

Eliot shrugs, shoving down a vague pang of guilt. "No time like the present," he says lightly, and heads for the coat rack, ignoring the looks he can feel both Margo and Alice sending after him.

He purposefully doesn't watch while Quentin says his hurried goodbyes to them, busying himself with his coat buttons instead, and ends up mostly staring at the carpet until Quentin's scuffed shoes enter his line of sight. Halfway through the portal, he realizes he never retrieved his cigarette case from the couch, but decides to just leave it. If he goes back for it he'll have to face Margo, and he'd rather not see her pitying look again. Instead he steps out into the alley with Quentin beside him, and they set off.

It's a quiet, brisk walk. Eliot quickly realizes they're retracing their steps back to The Armory instead of heading to wherever Quentin lives, but doesn't question it, letting Quentin lead the way. He keeps his eyes ahead and doesn't make any attempt at conversation, too busy trying to ignore the guilt still gnawing at him, working its way up from the pit of his stomach. By the time the bookshop comes into view, his hands are clammy with it. He clenches them in his pockets and strolls to a stop outside the display window.

"Here we are," he sighs, with the same forced casualness from earlier.

"It feels like I've been gone a lot longer than a day and a half," Quentin laughs, stopping beside him to peer through the window with a fond smile on his face. "Julia's in there. I guess I'll tell her I'm hopped up on cold medicine if she asks why I'm not coughing everywhere." He turns to Eliot with a sheepish look. "Don't tell Alice I compared her potion to DayQuil."

Eliot feels his lips quirk weakly. "Cross my heart. Are you back to work, then?"

Quentin nods, brushing his hair out of his face. "Yeah, I want to explain the cash overage before Julia finds it and assumes it was, like, a money drop or something."

"I don't think it's quite enough to rouse suspicion of mob ties," Eliot drawls. "Just tell her you sold something to a flat-Earther with a distrust of banks."

Quentin gives him a wry look. "I'll give you a little more credit than that." He softens after a second, and turns to Eliot with a hopeful expression. "Do you want to come in? You can meet her."

"I've got to get going, actually," Eliot says smoothly, taking a step back. "More pressing matters, you know."

"Right," Quentin falters, clearly trying not to show his disappointment. "Okay, well… I know I said this already, but— thanks for all this, I really—"

"Quentin," Eliot cuts him off, giving him a tight smile. "You don't have to say anything. This has been fun, but… I really have to head back."

Quentin recoils just a little, hurt. Guilt bites into Eliot's ribs, but he ignores it, reminding himself that this is for the best. "Okay," Quentin manages to mumble. "I'll, um… see you, then."

Eliot doesn't say it back. Quentin looks down as he turns away to head for the door. Bracing himself, Eliot watches him reach for the handle, planning to do the charm as soon as he opens it so he can slip away unnoticed, but— his hands remain stubbornly in his pockets, and before he can force himself to lift them, Quentin turns back around.

"Look, can you… You have to let me repay you somehow," he says, still dispirited, but with a stubborn look in his eyes. "I know you don't think I owe you anything, but will you just— meet me here, tomorrow night? Please?"

Eliot should say no. He should cast the charm and walk away, like he was supposed to do days before. 

But… hours ago, he was holding Quentin's life in his hands. He can still imagine how it felt, swirling in his palms, soft against his fingers. How can he deny him, after that?

"Alright," concedes, sighing it out. "I'll be here."

Quentin smiles just a little, visibly relieved. With one last long look at Eliot, he nods and turns to go inside. Eliot watches through the window as he gets greeted by a girl at the desk - this must be Julia, wrapping him in a hug and leading him away toward the back office. Eliot waits until they disappear from view before he makes himself turn away and start back up the street.

He goes back to the penthouse. There's no pressing matter, of course, nothing calling him back there except his lack of anywhere else to go. It's quiet and empty when he walks in, everyone else having apparently found other things to do, but Eliot doesn't mind. He doesn't want to talk to anyone, anyway. He picks up his cigarette case from the couch and climbs the stairs, feeling heavier with every step.

It's barely mid-afternoon, but he's definitely gone to sleep at weirder times, and locks himself in his bedroom with the lights out and curtains drawn. He shucks out of his vest and tie and moves to flop down on his bed - but the sheets are untucked and pulled back, still unmade from when he and Quentin woke up that morning. He can still picture how Quentin had looked curled up there, nestled into the blankets, stretching over to Eliot's side of the bed. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets those thoughts crest over him and fade away - then lies down in the middle of the mattress, head tipped back on the pillows.

He stares at the ceiling, keeping his mind purposefully blank, flicking the case open and shut between his hands. The clasp seems to be sticking, it's not swinging as wide with every movement as it usually does. He turns the case over to search out the broken hinge, but can't feel it. Frowning, he glances down at it, and quickly identifies the problem - or lack of problem, really. The sharp point he had gotten used to catching his thumb on is no longer there. The top hinge is unbent and aligned with the bottom one, and the clasp is staying shut because it's actually locking into place where it's supposed to.

Eliot sits up, brow furrowing as he checks the entire case over. It's perfectly repaired, like it was never broken at all, no sharp edges or dents... but it had definitely been broken that morning, when he had taken it out before the casting.

 _I could fix this,_ he remembers Quentin saying. But when could he possibly have had the time - or the tools - to do it? He had been holding it after the spell, Eliot had watched him put it down, and then they left, and— Eliot doesn't really want to think about that. Or anything else. He closes his eyes again and lies back.

Maybe tomorrow night he'll ask Quentin about it. He's not sure what the plan is for their final meeting - not that Quentin knows it's final, he reminds himself, and promptly shoves down the guilt that wells up at the thought. It'll be fine. Quentin deserves a kinder goodbye than Eliot had tried to give him, anyway.

So they'll have a nice time, one last night together, and then he'll do the charm, and after that— well. He brushes his fingers over the unbent hinge, holding the case loosely on his chest. At least he'll have one thing to remember Quentin by.

— — —

Almost as soon as he steps out into the cold city night, Eliot decides the alleyway portal point isn't as convenient as it once seemed. He makes a mental note to ask Kady about moving it somewhere else as he sets off, turning up his collar against the wind. The walk from the alley to The Armory is a short few blocks, but tonight he feels aware of every step, like he can't settle on whether to drag his feet or hurry along.

He had spent the day not holed up in his room like he had seriously considered, but instead helping Alice record the specifics of the previous day's casting, updating her notes and fine-tuning the method for any future attempts - not that they'll hopefully ever cross paths with as powerful a curse as that again, Alice had stressed, but just in case.

It was mostly an excuse for Eliot to avoid getting cornered by Margo and her inevitable questions about how he's doing, or worse, how the charm went. She'll definitely get the wrong idea if he tells her he still hasn't cast it yet, but some part of him doesn't want her or any of the others to know about this final meeting with Quentin. He's still not sure if he's dreading or looking forward to it, but either way, anticipation is coiling tight in his chest as he reaches the storefront. He tries his best to relax, for Quentin's sake.

He'd made sure to arrive after hours, assuming Quentin would be staying late waiting for him like he had been the last time he invited Eliot to come around. The door is unlocked like it had been that time too, and Eliot heads inside with a strange feeling of déjà vu. It only deepens when the bell over the door tinkles almost loud in the still quiet of the empty shop. Quentin is nowhere in sight, and calling out to him gets nothing but silence in response. When Eliot crosses the store to push through the door to the tiny office, he half-expects Quentin to be sitting on the floor again with a book open in his lap.

But that's where the similarities stop. The office is empty except for the half-unpacked boxes from last time, though there are less of them and the various piles seem a little more organized than they were before. Eliot steps further inside with a frown. Maybe Quentin changed his mind. Or maybe Eliot came by too late, maybe he's already left, thinking Eliot decided not to come after all.

Except… the door had been unlocked. Eliot turns in a slow circle and notices something glinting on top of one of the unopened boxes. He leans in for a closer look and feels his stomach drop.

It's the beaded necklace that Marina tried to sic on them in Amanita's safehouse. Kady had thrown it back at her just before they left, but if it's here now… then Marina must have been here too. And she would have only come looking for one thing.

But Quentin had been here instead, waiting for Eliot to show up.

Panic rises in him so quickly he nearly chokes on it. He snatches up the necklace and turns from the room with his heart pounding in his ears. He's vaguely aware that he's stumbling, catching his hip on a low shelf, kicking over a stack of books, but everything is muted underneath the dark, roaring dread coursing through him. He can't think - everything in his mind has screeched to a halt around Quentin coming face to face with Marina while no one was around to help, while Eliot wasn't around— and now he's gone, and so is Marina, and Eliot can't fucking breathe around it. She had called him their _pet_ , Eliot should've known from the look on her face that she was picking Quentin out as their weakest link— 

But she didn't leave his body for someone to find, the last rational part of his brain points out. She left the necklace. Which means she must've wanted Eliot to find it, wanted him to _know_ that she had been here, and taken Quentin, and wanted him to… what, give up the book? She would have figured out pretty fast that Quentin didn't have it anymore. There must be something else - but the longer Eliot stays here thinking about it, the more danger Quentin is in.

He reaches the desk with its ancient computer monitor and grabs the first pen he can find to scribble a note with shaking hands. _The Armory. Marina has Quentin. Bring the runestone._ He gets the tremors under control long enough to perform the tut that burns the note away, then— waits, pacing in front of the desk and and pretending he's not counting the seconds. 

He realizes, belatedly, that the pen he'd chosen is the same one Quentin had handed to him the first time he came here, the decidedly un-sexy one with Gandalf on the end. He puts it down on the desk as gently as he can manage with numb fingers. More than once he starts to reach into his pocket, the cigarette case still a familiar weight even without the sharp edges he had gotten used to, but he doesn't let himself touch it. Not until he knows Quentin is okay.

It's an excruciating few minutes before Margo, Kady, Alice and Penny appear in the middle of the store. Eliot fills them in as quickly as he can with his ears still ringing with panic, trying his best to keep his voice even when answering their questions.

"What makes you so sure it was Marina?" Penny asks, peering into the back office. "That necklace was Amanita's. It could've been her."

"They were working together," Eliot bites out. "But this is— it's a taunt. She wanted us to know she took him."

"Why, though? Why leave a clue?" Kady crosses her arms, staring down at the necklace with her brow furrowed. "And why would Marina take Quentin at all? She knew he's not a Magician. It doesn't make sense."

Eliot grips the edge of the desk, hard. "She must have come looking for the book. When Quentin didn't have it, she took him hostage. The necklace was all that was left when I got here."

"What were you doing here, anyway?" Alice asks, but before he can come up with a lie, Margo reads the guilt on his face, apparently connecting the dots, and steps in.

"If he hadn't been, who knows how long it would've taken us to find this?" she points out. "The necklace is a calling card. She must have him at Amanita's safehouse. Penny, you remember where it is, right? Let's just bust in, Liam Neeson style."

Kady shakes her head. "She'll have replaced the wards, by now. We won't be able to Travel." She glances at Eliot, eyebrows raised. "But you thought of that."

She takes the runestone out of her pocket and Eliot straightens up, actively unclenching his fists. "It still has a charge, right?" he asks desperately. "Marina might not even know we have it."

"That's kind of a big risk," Penny says, skeptical.

"So was the spell that broke the curse," Eliot argues. "But that worked, didn't it? We can't just leave him."

"We're not going to," Margo assures him, but she doesn't look entirely convinced of his plan, either.

"I'm just saying, if we jump in there with the runestone, we don't know what's waiting for us," Kady explains. "It could be a trap. Why would Marina let us know where she's holding Quentin? Why would she give us an advantage like that?"

Eliot glares back at her, impatient. "Maybe she made a mistake."

Kady shakes her head again. "I'd love to believe that, but—"

"You don't get it," Eliot snaps, pushing off the desk. "Quentin got caught up in this because of _me_." If he had just cast the fucking memory charm, if he had just been able to let him go— "I swore I would get him out. If he gets hurt, it's my fault."

"It's really not," Margo says firmly. "Look, we were all part of this, we all could have done things differently. But Quentin is smart. He knows Marina is bad news, and he knows help is on the way. He can hold his own until we figure out a game plan."

Eliot isn't so sure about the last part. He remembers how easily Marina had sent Quentin sprawling with barely a wave of her hand. The longer he goes without proof that Quentin is alive and unharmed, the harder it is to pretend he's not drowning in the anxiety lapping at the back of his throat. He just needs to get there, he needs to be sure— 

He barely has to think about it. A sharp look has the runestone flying out of Kady's hand and into his own. In the split second it takes the others to react, he's already flying through the tuts to make the rune glow.

"Eliot, _no—_ "

But the doorway is already springing up before him, and Eliot dashes through it into the dark hallway. He glances back at the others hurrying towards him, but he can see the runestone is fading, and before any of them can get close enough the doorway flickers and disappears. Their clamoring voices cut off abruptly, and he's left in the quiet shadowy hall alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are at the penultimate chapter! this is the part i've been looking forward to since i first started posting. it's also the hurtiest of the hurt by which i mean it's short but it gets pretty rough i'm sorry in advance.  
> in this chapter, eliot finds quentin. It's All Going 2 Be Okay I Swear.

Eliot doesn't give himself time to regret jumping through the portal by himself, turning immediately towards the oak door at the end of the hall. It's standing ajar, and he can't see any light coming through from the rooms beyond. He makes himself slow down and approach cautiously, straining to hear any sound, but there's nothing beyond the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Maybe they aren't here. Maybe he was wrong. But he has to be sure. "Quentin?"

"Eliot?" comes Quentin's voice from the dark beyond the door, frantic and strained, but _alive—_ Eliot feels almost lightheaded with relief. He's already moving before he registers the rest of Quentin's words. "No, get out of here! Don't—"

But he doesn't have time to hesitate. He shoves through the door and looks wildly around the gloom of the safehouse. In the moonlight coming down from the high windows he can see all of Amanita's instruments and oddities glinting. Amanita herself is nowhere in sight, and neither is Marina, but Quentin— Quentin is there, slumped against the glass-fronted cabinet at the end of the room.

"Eliot," he pants, struggling - there's a spell binding his hands, a ghostly chain apparently too heavy to lift. "Stop, you need to leave, right now—"

Eliot ignores him, fixated entirely on the fact that he's _there_ , conscious and unhurt. He hurries forward, noticing too late that there's something underfoot, shining wetly in the low light— 

He feels the crackle of magic as soon as he steps onto the sigil, and a second later his entire body locks in place, frozen in the centre of the circle laid out on the floor.

"Holy shit," someone laughs behind him. He can't turn his head but he hears the click of Marina's heels as she strolls into view, grinning. "I set that up as a joke! I can't believe you walked right into it." She wanders over to Quentin, leaning close as he flinches away. "Kind of disappointing, honestly."

"What is this?" Eliot grits out. He can still speak, at least, but his arms and legs are useless. There's no way he can cast anything, and Quentin is too far away to help.

"What does it look like?" Marina says, rolling her eyes as she straightens up. She flicks her wrist and Eliot hears the door snap shut behind him. "It's a trap, genius, and you sprung it perfectly."

Eliot glowers at her. "I'm guessing I'm not the catch you were hoping for." He's never really understood Kady and Marina's whole deal, but he knows Marina has gone to further lengths than this to get one up on her. "If this was your one shot, you wasted it."

To his surprise and unease, Marina laughs again. "Oh, no, I caught _exactly_ what I wanted. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the bait."

She leers at Quentin, apparently unfazed by the hostile look he meets her with, then turns abruptly and claps her hands together. "Anyway," she sighs, meandering back over to Eliot. "Welcome to the _soirée_. You're probably wondering why I invited you."

"I have a working theory," Eliot says tersely. "But we don't have the book."

"I know that," Marina scoffs. "If you did, this would be a very different party. No, I assumed you guys already squirreled it away, just like the tightwad stiff you got it from, and I figured I'd cut my losses. Besides, I finally managed to track down where the rest of his library had ended up." She tilts her head innocently. "It's this cute little bookstore, maybe you've been there?"

Eliot tries with all his might to wrench his arms up, to curl his fingers, anything— but the sigil trap holds. Marina watches amusedly, wandering out of his line of sight so he's left staring at Quentin, still struggling with the chain. The path across the room to him is clear, he could make it in only a few strides if he could just will his legs to move— 

"Originally, I was just going to have a quick look," Marina goes on, crossing behind him. "You know, just to see what other potentially powerful spellbooks the guy was holding onto. But who do I find perusing the very same selection," she gasps, reappearing at Eliot's side, "but your helpful muggle pet!"

A wave of protectiveness rises in Eliot but he tries to push it down, focusing on the circle beneath him. Maybe he can reach out, drag something over to break it…

"I'll admit it was a surprise," Marina sighs. "I fully expected him to be dead at that point. But then I realized what must have happened."

"Yeah, I survived," Quentin says heatedly, glaring at her. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Disappoint?" Marina repeats, incredulous. "No, it was incredible! To outlast a curse like that, to live through something no Magician ever has… that takes _serious_ power." She looks back at Eliot, shrugging. "And, well, I'm always looking for fresh meat, you know."

Thrown, Eliot watches her cross in front of him, all focus abruptly lost. "Quentin isn't a Magician," he says slowly.

"Not _yet_ he's not," Marina says easily, like it's obvious. "That's what's on the docket tonight." She stops between him and Quentin and raises her hands, ready to cast. "We're going to draw his magic out."

Eliot stares back at her. He knew from Kady's horror stories that Marina was crazy, but this is another level. "How?"

"Well," Marina huffs, dropping her hands to her hips. "Every Hedge has a sob story about the traumatic event that made their magic manifest - you, me, Kady, everyone. Now, I have a hypothesis that in this controlled environment, we can create such an event for Quentin, here." She takes a step to the side and glances back at him with a smile. "And wake his magic up."

Quentin gives her a fearful look. "Eliot, what does she mean?"

"So glad you asked!" Marina gasps dramatically. "I went through a few ideas, but the event I settled on is… killing Eliot while you watch." She turns to Eliot, scrunching her nose. "That's gotta be painful enough to manifest _something_ , right?"

"It's not going to work," Eliot bites out, forcing down a swell of panic. Across the room Quentin is frozen, looking stricken and terrified, and Eliot still can't move— 

"If it doesn't, you won't be around to say you told me so," Marina says with a shrug. "And it's not like it'll be hard to get rid of him. But don't worry," she adds, giving Quentin a reassuring glance over her shoulder before she raises her hands again. "I've got a good feeling about this."

"Look, just let him go," Eliot says quickly, heart pounding. "Let him go and I’ll get you the book. That's what you want, right?"

Marina snorts. "That old thing? No, I have what I want right here. Besides—" She smiles at him, viciously sweet. "I don't know if you're really in a position to bargain, right meow."

Eliot swallows hard, mind racing. He catches Quentin's eye for a split second and makes himself look back at Marina before panic crests in him again. "Please. Let me take his place. You want a powerful Magician, I'll volunteer."

"Really?" Marina asks, skeptical. "You'd join me? You'd ditch Kady, after all she's done for you?"

"Yes," Eliot says, forcing it out. "Whatever you want. Just let Quentin go."

Marina actually pauses for a moment, lowering her hands. "Wow, that's… really noble of you," she says, frowning a little - but a second later she's grinning again, and Eliot feels a pit of dread open in his stomach. "But no thanks. Oh, actually, there is _one_ thing you can do for me." 

She steps over to him and brings her hands together sharply. Eliot feels a sudden heaviness in his limbs, dragging him down until his stiff legs buckle and he's forced to his knees, landing hard on the floor with a grunt.

Quentin scrambles as upright as he can, straining at his binds. "What are you— No, wait, don't!"

"Relax, this'll be a learning experience!" Marina assures him, flexing her fingers. "Magic really opens up all sorts of possibilities. I could crush his heart, fill his lungs with water, cut him to ribbons… what do you think?" She doesn't wait for Quentin's opinion before she brings one hand up into a claw and slowly draws it down. Eliot winces as a fiery sting spreads across his chest. He can't look down, but he can feel the wet warmth of blood seeping through his shirt. Marina smirks and curls her fingers just a little, driving the gash deeper, and Eliot clenches his teeth against the pain, refusing to make a sound.

"Stop," Quentin chokes out. "Please, _please_ stop, I'll help you, or whatever you want, just—"

"Oh, I know you will," Marina says, dropping her hand and shaking it out. She tilts her head at Eliot as if to survey her handiwork. "That's the whole point. Just let me get this over with and you'll see."

She steps closer, blocking Eliot's view of Quentin, but he can still hear him struggling fruitlessly. "Wait, please— Eliot, I can't—" 

"Don't look," Eliot says, as steadily as he can manage while watching Marina's fingers twist together. He knows immediately what spell she's chosen for him. If he could move he's sure his hand would be twitching with the memory of it, he even knows how it'll sound when she drives it down— "Close your eyes, Quentin."

"What? No, _Eliot_ —"

"It's okay." Margo and the others must be on their way by now, they _have_ to be. As long as they can find Quentin before Marina realizes she was wrong, as long as they can save him... "It's going to be fine, just close your eyes."

Marina raises her hand, the spell bright red between her fingers. Eliot doesn't flinch. He can almost hear the sharp snap of bone— 

But the splintering crunch that comes is suspiciously painless. It takes Eliot a second to realize Marina hasn't moved, and the sound didn't come from his neck breaking at all, but rather the leather chair beside them.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see it's almost caved in, somehow, like a hole has been punched through the fabric into the thick wood underneath. Even as he watches, scraps and fragments are breaking off and shivering their way into the center of the fracture, like it's still trying to contort itself further. For a moment Eliot thinks it must be Kady or the others, help arrived at last, but Marina hasn't given any sign that her wards were being pushed through.

Apparently on the same page, Marina glances warily between the deforming chair and Eliot, her hand still paused in midair. "Okay, nice try, but you're still—"

A loud rattling cuts her off, and she whirls around, looking for the source. As she steps away, Eliot shoots a desperate look at Quentin, then feels his breath catch.

He's still slumped on the floor but he's wrenched his hands up, somehow, despite the chain still binding his hands. His head is bowed, his fingers outstretched - it's not exactly tut, but there's something happening— As his hands tremble, Eliot watches, awed, as brittle cracks spread across the glass doors of the cabinet behind him. Even the objects inside start to vibrate, lifting off their pedestals, until the entire wall is reverberating with whatever power Quentin is somehow channeling.

He looks up then, not at Eliot but at his own raised hands. With a shuddering breath he wrenches his wrists apart, breaking the chain, and at the same moment everything shatters.

Marina throws up a shield charm just in time. A thousand shards of glass and metal batter against it in a wave, smashing themselves into even smaller pieces and gouging into the floor. The scattered debris gathers together in a heavy, glinting cloud and rears back for a second barrage, which sends Marina stumbling back a few steps. When Eliot glances at her she's grinning, eyes bright and exhilarated.

"I told you," she shouts over the ring and clash of the swarming wreckage. "I knew you had it in you!"

Quentin is slowly pulling himself to his feet, untouched by the cloud even as it swirls above him like a dark, discordant thunderhead.

"This is great," Marina laughs. "Now just try to—" She cuts off as the debris smashes against her shield again, almost knocking her over. When she looks back up at Quentin her smile is gone. "Hey, fucking relax, will you?"

But Quentin doesn't seem to be listening. He's more distraught, breathing hard, but his eyes are unfocused and hazy. Eliot realizes with a sick jolt that he recognizes the look.

"Let me up," he calls to Marina. "You can't stop him by yourself. Break the circle and I'll help you."

"Yeah, right," Marina scoffs. "I'm not falling for that. No way I'm giving you a two-on-one advantage."

Eliot grits his teeth against a wave of anxious frustration. "He's not in control," he insists. "He'll tear this place apart, you along with it."

"I'd like to see him try," Marina grumbles, dropping her shield to swipe through a different tut - but something changes in her face before she finishes it. She only pauses for a split second to look over her shoulder, but it's an opening wide enough for the glass cloud to rear up again. When she turns back she barely has time to draw up another rushed shield before the shards crash against it. It shoves her back even further, past Eliot entirely, and the debris scatters across the floor in front of him.

The sharp and glittering fragments vibrate their way back into the air almost humming, and Eliot gets one glimpse of Quentin, still wild-eyed and breathing heavily, before the source of Marina's distraction makes itself known - muffled voices and then a loud smash as the door bursts open behind them.

He's sure Marina had some sort of plan for this scenario, but maybe not for the four-pronged stunning spell that knocks her off her feet and sends her sprawling back into Eliot's line of sight, out cold. If he wasn't already on his knees, he's sure the relief flooding through him would have sent him there anyway. Margo, Kady, Penny and Alice all crowd into view, at varying levels of concern and outrage.

"You absolute _cock_ ," Margo all but yells in his ear. "What the fuck were you thinking, running off— why are you _bleeding_?"

"It wasn't exactly my choice, Bambi," Eliot says dryly, wincing when she tries to pry his bloodied shirt away from the wound. "Leave it. Just get me out of this trap, we have to—"

"Jesus, what the _fuck_ is that?" The scattered debris is rising up again, daggers of it wrenching themselves out of gashes in the floor, twisting itself back into a stormcloud of splintered glass and metal. It swirls above them, reflecting the moonlight like an undulating, infinitely-faceted disco ball.

"Who's doing that?" Alice asks, voice soft with astonishment.

"Hey, Quentin?" Penny calls tentatively. "You good, man?"

But Quentin doesn't respond, gazing back at them unseeing but still frantic. Eliot opens his mouth to warn Penny, but it's too late— He takes one hesitant step forward and Quentin flinches, hard. With a shrill rumble the roiling mass careens down towards them in a wave.

Together, Kady and Alice cast a shield and Penny ducks behind it just before the shards collide with it in a roar of shattering glass and scraping metal.

"What the hell is going on?" Kady grunts. "I thought this was a hostage situation."

"It was, briefly, but Marina had other ideas." Eliot strains for another glimpse of Quentin, but between the barrage on the shield and the glinting debris shivering back into the air, he can barely see him anymore. "Look, we don't have time for a recap. We have to get to Quentin."

"How?" Margo scoffs. "That's not exactly confetti flying around."

Alice gazes through the shield at the splinters swirling together with something like awe. "How did Marina even do this?"

"She didn't," Eliot says, watching the cloud assemble itself again, churning violently before them. "Quentin did."

The others exchange wary looks. "That's impossible," Kady starts to say, but Eliot cuts her off, impatient.

"I watched him do it. He destroyed the cabinet to attack Marina."

"Why's he attacking us, then?" Penny gripes, wincing as the gouges in the floor start to crack and splinter.

"He can't control it," Eliot says, fighting to keep his voice even, to stay focused on the present instead of the memory pressing in on him. "He's overloaded, he can't tell what's a threat and what's not."

"Okay, we'll snap him out of it," Kady says, glancing at Alice. "We'll hit him with—" 

"No," Margo cuts across her. Eliot feels her eyes on him even before she crouches beside him again, knows what she's going to say even before she touches his frozen shoulder.

"El," she murmurs softly. "Honey, I'm sorry, but— you've seen this before. How do we do this without… without hurting him?"

 _Without killing him_ , she means. But Eliot appreciates her attempt to blunt the edge of it. He holds her gaze steadily, tense under her hand. "Break the circle. I'll talk him down."

"Are you joking?" Penny splutters, gesturing wildly at the heavy shimmering mass of wreckage swirling between them and Quentin. "You'll get shredded!"

"I can get through," Eliot says firmly, watching Margo search his face. "I have to try."

Margo sets her jaw and nods, then turns away and slashes her fingers through one of the sigils on the floor. As soon as Eliot feels his muscles unlock he's on his feet, ignoring the exhaustion in his limbs and stepping out past the bounds of the shield charm. He reaches out with telekinesis to carve a path through the glass, advancing carefully into the cloud.

Quentin eventually appears through the gloom of it, scattered moonlight strewn across him. He doesn't seem to register Eliot approaching, eyes still hazy and faraway. The scraps of jagged debris closest to him are just floating, suspended with the same tension that Eliot can see in Quentin's shoulders as he draws ragged breaths.

Eliot pushes closer, willing himself to keep a stable grip on his magic even as his entire body aches with fatigue, the gash on his chest prickling sharply. "Quentin—"

At the sound Quentin recoils, drawing his hands up, and Eliot has a flash of memory, the same wild look in different eyes - fear cresting over him, his own hand driving down— but this isn't the same, he tells himself. He's not scared, his hands are steady and his magic is unwavering at his fingertips, and—

And this is Quentin, stubborn and curious and brave, and Eliot swore he'd help him. Nevermind the memory, nevermind the broken and glinting thing inside him. He won't hurt Quentin.

In the split second it takes the nearest shards to swarm and rear back, Eliot pushes outward with his magic. He extends his barrier as far as he can manage, shoving every sharp edge away from them, then crosses the last bit of distance and wraps his hands around Quentin's. The displaced fragments rush back into the void almost as soon as he leaves it, smashing together behind him, but he barely notices. 

"Hey, you're okay," he soothes, trying to draw Quentin's focus. Quentin flinches back again, but Eliot doesn’t let him get far. "It's just me. It's Eliot."

Quentin shakes his head - he doesn't seem entirely aware of what's going on or where he is. "Eliot, you're— no, I have to—" He's edging even further into panic, his expression growing frantic again, and behind him the wooden frame of the cabinet starts to crack and splinter.

The rest of the roiling cloud swirls around them, like Quentin is the eye of the storm. Eliot hears a sharp cracking from the high window, another grinding crunch that might be the desk across the room - the energy coming off Quentin is winding tighter and tighter as he heaves in another hitching breath. "No, I can't," he chokes out. "I can't watch you die, I have to—"

"It's okay," Eliot assures him, heart clenching. He squeezes Quentin's hands between his own, willing them to stop trembling. "I'm fine, Quentin, you did it. You saved me."

"I don't—" Quentin starts, then blinks and finally, _finally_ looks back at him, recognition eclipsing the panic in his eyes. "Eliot?" he breathes, soft and unsure.

Eliot nods, drawing closer as the glass and wreckage pulses around them, heavy and ringing. "It's okay now. You can let go."

Doubt lingers in Quentin’s expression though, and he shies away from the hand Eliot lifts to his face. "It's just me," Eliot repeats, gently thumbing over Quentin’s cheek. At the touch, Quentin falters, seeming to lose track of his fear for a moment.

"Quentin," Eliot murmurs, holding his gaze. "Let go. I’m right here."

Quentin stares back at him for a breathless few seconds, and then— slowly, the tension starts to leak out of him, and he lets Eliot pull him in.

He wavers on his feet a little, but Eliot catches him around the waist before he can fall and lowers him carefully to the floor. He looks into Quentin's face as he lets go and finds him still staring, almost bewildered before his expression crumples with relief. Eliot has barely lifted a hand before Quentin is reaching for him, and then it's all he can do to just hold him, gather him into his arms while Quentin wraps around him.

The cloud of broken glass and metal swirls to a slow, creaking stop and then, all at once, crashes to the floor. Eliot draws his magic up one more time to protect them from the cascade of splinters and dust, and feels Quentin let out an exhausted, shuddery breath against his neck.

He closes his eyes and lets relief wash over him, unable to bring himself to care about anything but Quentin's fingers digging into his shoulderblades, Quentin's hair tickling his nose, Quentin's body against his own, warm in his hands. He presses a kiss to the side of his head and feels Quentin's grip tighten, just a little, before he looks up at Eliot— 

"Is he okay?" Alice asks urgently, picking her way through the crumbled debris with Margo hot on her heels. The two of them hurry over to the mostly-clear patch of floor and Eliot reluctantly lets Quentin pull away from him so that the girls can check him over for injury. "Oh my god, are you bleeding?"

"No, that's mine," Eliot sighs, frowning at the red smear across Quentin's shirt, and then down at the sticky, wet stain still spreading on his own. He'd almost forgotten about it. "Ow."

Margo hefts him up off his battered and protesting knees, and as soon as he's upright he slips away from her to help Alice get Quentin back on his feet. He seems fairly wobbly and almost immediately clings to Eliot's side. Eliot quickly wraps an arm around his waist just to be sure he won't fall over.

Penny and Kady make their way over, brushing themselves off as the last of the dust settles. It's like the room itself has exhaled in relief, leaving only the quiet creaking of the mangled furniture and the hushed tinkling of glass being kicked aside. Moonlight sparkles over the dust and debris on the floor, interrupted only by the thick crack in the windowpane and their own shadows. Aside from the layer of shattered glass, bits of metal, wood, and various gnarled pieces of formerly cursed objects strewn around, it's the ragged gouges in the floor and walls that give Quentin the most pause.

He looks puzzledly around at the damage, his grip on Eliot loosening. "Did... _I_ do this?"

"Sure did," Margo says, exasperated but a little amused. "What, you don't remember going full Jean Grey on us?"

"I don't— I mean, sort of?" He glances up at Eliot, frowning. "I was trying to get to you, and then it just... happened. I don't know how I did it."

Alice gives him a patient smile. "It was magic, Quentin," she says softly. "You're a Magician."

Quentin blinks, taking this in, then looks a little like he might pass out. Eliot tightens his grip just in case. "Can we maybe save the life-changing revelation talk for when we're not six feet from Marina's—" He pauses, glancing at Kady where she's leaning over her body. "Corpse?"

"No, she's alive," Kady says wryly. "I don't think we wanna be here when she wakes up, though. Come on." She nods at Penny and heads toward the far wall. "Help me take apart the rest of the wards so we can get out of here."

A stellar idea, in Eliot's opinion. A steady ache is starting up in his— _everything_ , and Quentin still looks a little too faint for his liking. "How did you guys find us, anyway?" he asks, watching Kady start plucking strands out of the air.

" _Oh_ ," Margo huffs, flying easily back into her earlier indignation. "You weren't so worried about that when you fucked off through the runestone portal, were you?"

"Homemade psychic amplifier," Penny explains over his shoulder. "One of you was bound to be freaking out, so we listened for that."

"You're lucky we didn't have to counter-spell every single ward off the door to get in here," Margo rages on. "I was _this_ close to blowing a damn hole in the wall, I swear to christ. And _you_!" She turns on Quentin, who jumps. "We've gotta get you a panic button or something. Anything like this happens again and I'm signing you up for Life Alert."

Still glowering, she wraps him in a tight hug. Eliot figures it's as close to forgiveness as they're going to get at the moment, and smiles as he puts his free arm around her. He holds both her and Quentin close as they wait for the wards to lift and feels, finally, like the tight spiral of panic within him has unwound entirely.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE is the final (real) chapter of the longest thing i have ever written, a record previously held by a 1D fic for the past 7 years. maybe this is growing up but also go watch harry styles' watermelon sugar mv  
> after this there's a short epilogue, which i will post...... later tonight probably because i am impatient, along with The Big Ol Emo Thank You notes. anyway HAVE a good time, thank u so much
> 
> in this chapter, eliot and quentin Talk About It.

The first order of business once they're back in the penthouse is to take care of the still-bleeding gash in Eliot's chest. Margo herds him upstairs with a Healing guide in her hand and no sympathy for his weakened legs, but she does help him out of his jacket and bloody shirt before she sits him down on his bed.

Her eyes linger on the cigarette case when he takes it out of his coat pocket. "I thought that was broken."

Eliot glances at it, still caught off guard by the look of it himself. "Quentin fixed it."

Margo pauses with the guide halfway open, eyebrows raised. "And you let him?"

"In my defense, I wasn't there at the time," Eliot says flatly, then sighs, thumbing over the mended hinge. "But... yeah. He was rather adamant."

"Sounds like him." Margo watches him for a moment, then smiles, shrugging a little. "I like it better this way."

"I do too," Eliot admits, and he's surprised by how much he means it.

Margo manages to clean up and close the gash with only a few painful prods, and minimal bitten-off swearing on Eliot's part. His shirt, however, is deemed a lost cause - not because they can’t spell away the stain, but because Eliot doesn't think he's ever going to want to wear it again. 

Assuring him he looks hotter in patterns anyway, Margo holds up a selection of softer, darker, more blood-stain-resistant shirts for him to put on instead. He slips the cigarette case back into his pocket before she leads him back downstairs.

The others are waiting in the living room, and Margo all but shoves Eliot down on the couch next to Quentin. He's mostly occupied with Kady checking over the magical bruising on his wrists, but manages to shoot Eliot a tired smile. Eliot laments being too sore to make any attempt to shift closer look nonchalant.

He doesn't have long to dwell on it though - it seems the others have been eagerly awaiting an explanation of what happened with Marina before they arrived, which Eliot gives, only somewhat edited towards the end to alleviate the discomfort on Quentin's face. Quentin also gives a stilted account of how Marina accosted him in The Armory, and Eliot doesn't realize he's clenching his fist hard enough to make his entire arm ache until Margo puts a gentle hand on his wrist. 

"So we have impeccable timing, is what you're saying," she summarizes, perching on the arm of the couch nearest Eliot. "Like, should've-tested-for-Horomancy type of shit."

"It was not my finest hour, I admit," Eliot grumbles. "But I couldn't just stand around debating what to do."

"Dude, you showed up and immediately walked into the Hedge equivalent of _petrificus totalus_ ," Penny says, pacing behind Kady. "You're lucky Marina didn't dissect you."

"Yeah, yeah, you said it was a trap and it was a trap. If you're going to say 'I told you so'—"

"We definitely told you so," Kady deadpans, barely looking up.

"I'm sure Quentin would've been fine a bit longer, with that meat grinder he was swinging around," Margo says, waving a hand at him. "What I want to know is how he ended up with magic all of a sudden."

"If you figure it out, I'm all ears," Quentin sighs, folding his arms around himself. He seems about as uncertain as the rest of them.

Eliot has been wondering about this too, in the back of his mind - there's no way Quentin has been hiding magic from them all this whole time, so it must be a recent development. But didn't Alice say he had no magical signature? And surely if he had cast any spells in Eliot's presence, Eliot would have noticed?

"Some Magicians don't have their power manifest until later adulthood," Alice points out. "Maybe it was dormant, inaccessible until Quentin had some sort of... um..." 

"Traumatic event?" Kady supplies.

Quentin shifts uncomfortably. "We can check off that box, I guess."

"So Marina was right?" Margo asks, a twinge of sadness in her voice. "She brought it out with— pain?"

"No," Eliot says suddenly, the pieces coming together in his mind. "He did magic before that."

He digs the cigarette case out of his pocket, and flicks it open and shut. The clasp holds.

"I thought that thing was busted," Penny says.

"It was," Eliot agrees, breathless. "But Quentin fixed it."

Quentin looks just as surprised by this as the others do. "I did?"

"You don't remember?" Margo asks, incredulous.

"I remember wanting to," Quentin says, reaching out for it. Eliot gives it up easily.

"You were holding it just before you left yesterday," Alice prompts.

"Yeah, I wanted another look so I could figure out what tools it needed." Quentin nods to himself as he examines the case, turning it over in his hands. "I was imagining how it used to look, or… how it... _wanted_ to look. Like it was telling me." He pauses, furrows his brow and looks up at Eliot. "Did I really do this?"

"You really did," Eliot says, smiling softly at him. "Just like you said you would."

Quentin gazes back at him for a moment, then down at the case again, a small, awed smile curving his lips.

"That still doesn't explain how he suddenly has magic," Kady points out. "Was there anything else in the past couple days that could've made it manifest?"

"Take your pick," Margo snorts. "It's kind of been a trauma conga-line."

"Well, Lipson didn't mention anything about it when we took Quentin to her," Alice says slowly. "It must have happened after that."

"When we broke the curse?" Penny suggests. "Dying's pretty stressful. It could've been that, or maybe the spell had some weird side effect."

"Yeah, what about that… bottle thing?" Quentin asks, dragging his eyes up. "That was a magical object, right? Could that have done anything?"

"The flask? No, we didn't end up using it," Kady says, shaking her head. "When we got your life essence out, Eliot just held it. He basically revived you himself."

Quentin blinks a few times before glancing over at Eliot again, but Eliot suddenly finds it hard to look back and quickly drops his gaze. Thinking about the spell again, though… something nags at him.

"What if that's it?" he says slowly. "The revivifying."

It wasn't especially traumatizing - more stressful for Eliot himself than anything - but... hadn't he felt something, as he guided Quentin's life essence back to where it belonged? Wasn't there a spark, like Eliot had lit a match, just before Quentin opened his eyes? 

"Maybe it didn't need trauma," Eliot says, looking around at the others. "What if when I brought him back, I was a— a catalyst, somehow?"

"For his magic?" Margo asks, eyebrows raised. "Like you, what, poked it and started it up?"

"That would explain why we didn't notice his first casting," Alice says slowly. "If it were linked to stress or whatever else, there probably would've been a bigger effect." 

"Like your meat grinder," Kady offers, wry.

Alice nods eagerly. "Yes, but something like this—" She gestures at the mended cigarette case in Quentin's hands. "It's... delicate, not the kind of spell you'd do when you're distraught. If his magic was brought out of dormancy more gently…"

She looks over at Eliot with a hesitant sort of smile. "I think that must be it. When you revived him... your magic gave his the jumpstart it needed to wake up."

And that, laid out so plainly— Eliot doesn't know how to feel about it. He glances from her to Quentin and finds him already looking, with the same shy, wonder-filled smile he's gotten used to. His heartbeat seems very loud in his ears, all of a sudden.

Penny decides at that moment that he's had quite enough dramatics for one day, and as long as no one else has plans to be in grave danger, he's going to bed. He gives Quentin a stilted but congratulatory shoulder pat and tells him he can cast his own portals next time he wants to get anywhere, then heads upstairs. Kady rolls her eyes after him, but agrees that it's gotten late and they could all do with some rest. 

She offers for Quentin to stay the night - Eliot's pulse jumps at the thought of Quentin sharing his bed again before he remembers it isn't strictly necessary anymore - but Quentin shakes his head, insisting he has work the next day.

Margo gives him a skeptical look. "You just found out you're a Magician, and you're worried about your dayjob?"

Quentin frowns. "I like my dayjob."

"Alright, well, you're coming back here afterwards, okay?" Kady says, crossing her arms. "We owe you a real intro to Hedge magic. Without any curses in the way, this time."

Eliot figures its a testament to how tired he is that Quentin doesn't immediately vibrate out of his skin with excitement. Instead he flushes a little and nods, and Kady gives him a satisfied smile before she lets him move past her.

Eliot hefts himself up off the couch beside him, offering to handle the portal, but Margo holds out a hand to stop them. "Maybe change first," she suggests, cringing at the dark red smear across Quentin's shirt, where Eliot's wound had pressed. "The 'just got out of a brush with death' look is a bit alarming. Todd probably has something you can borrow."

Affronted at the mere idea, Eliot marches Quentin upstairs to his own closet instead. He can appreciate that putting on a button-down at midnight is probably not as ideal for Quentin as it is for himself, so instead he hands him a soft polo, and only watches him lift his shirt halfway off before he busies himself with straightening out clothes hangers instead.

When he turns back around, Quentin is quiet, fiddling with the hem. It's kind of long on him, but Eliot is pretty sure the fit has nothing to do with the faraway look on his face.

"Feeling okay?"

Quentin blinks and looks up, smiling weakly. "Yeah, fine."

"Just fine?" Eliot hums, watching his expression carefully. "The novelty of infinite possibilities at your fingertips already wearing off?"

Rolling his eyes, Quentin waves him away and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "Of course not. It's incredible to even think about. I just... I don't feel any different."

"Well, what did you expect?" Eliot asks, wry. "Nothing has changed. You had it in you the whole time." Quentin looks a little skeptical, but he glances up when Eliot steps closer. "Maybe it would have manifested by itself, eventually."

"Maybe," Quentin agrees, looking down for a moment, his brow furrowed - then up at Eliot again, shy but pleased. "I'm glad you found it instead."

Eliot pauses, a little thrown, but a second later warmth floods through him, spiralling out from deep in his chest. He can't help smiling as he moves to sit next to Quentin on the bed, sideways with his hands raised between them. "Here, want to learn something easy?"

Quentin perks up immediately, shifting over and holding his hands out eagerly. Eliot shows him a simple, familiar tut, going through it slowly step by step and watching Quentin's fingers curl around it along with him. He's hesitant at first but grows more sure, until finally Quentin spreads his hand out and gasps as sparks burst from his fingertips.

Eliot grins at the awe in his face, lit up by the glow of the spell. For a moment he can't imagine why he never tried to teach him earlier, even before all this - how could he have ever thought that Quentin didn't have magic, that Quentin didn't belong right here, looking like this?

By the time they finally head back downstairs, Quentin has showered them both in sparks a few more times, and even as they're saying goodbye to Margo and Alice at the door, Eliot can see his fingers moving subtly, like he's making sure he'll remember the movements.

When they first step through the portal and out of the alley, Eliot almost starts towards the bookstore automatically before he realizes Quentin is leading him down a different street entirely. He realizes he probably should've checked if there were any closer portal points before they left - maybe Quentin takes the subway to get to work? But Quentin doesn't seem bothered by the walk, and seems to know where he's going, so Eliot falls easily into step beside him.

It's a quiet journey, but it's past midnight by now and the dark kind of encourages a hush - plus, if Quentin is feeling anywhere near as tired as Eliot is, then he figures it's understandable to not want to talk. He gets caught up in matching his strides to Quentin's and doesn't pay much attention to the route, until the sidewalk takes a hard left and changes to a tile walkway. He finally zones back in to realize they're already outside what must be Quentin's building.

Quentin leads him through the quiet lobby, up a short flight of stairs and to the first door on the level— then hesitates, one hand on the knob.

"Forget your keys?" Eliot prompts. "I can show you that spell for the lock."

"No, it's not that. I'm…" Quentin trails off, not meeting Eliot's eyes. "Are you coming in?"

Eliot had certainly planned on it, but maybe that was presumptuous. "If that's an invitation, yes."

"So there's no 'more pressing matters' this time?"

"I—" Eliot blinks, caught off guard. "What?"

"Sorry, that's not fair," Quentin sighs, brow furrowing. "I just… yesterday, when you walked me back... it was like you wanted nothing to do with me, like you couldn't leave fast enough." He shakes his head, looking down. "I wasn't sure if you were even going to show up tonight - before everything with Marina, I mean, and now we're here and— I don't know, Eliot, am I supposed to just forget about that?"

Guilt twists sourly in Eliot's stomach. "I was... kind of hoping you would, actually."

Quentin does look up at him then, hurt. "What?"

Eliot swallows hard. He honestly hadn't been planning on ever telling Quentin this, but here it is anyway, bubbling up out of him. "After we broke the curse, I was going to— there's a spell, a memory charm."

"Memory—?" Quentin stares, indignant now. "You were going to make me forget?" 

"It was for your protection," Eliot insists. "I thought it would be easier if you could put all of this behind you, curses and witches and magic— it would be _safer_."

Quentin glares at him. "What the fuck, Eliot? Don't I get a say in that?"

"You'd already been _cursed_ on our watch! We put you in danger over and over— I didn't want anything else to happen to you because of—" Eliot realizes a little too late how close he is to shouting and cuts off, glancing around the hall before turning back to meet Quentin's fiery gaze.

 _Because of me_ , his guilt screams at him, but it sticks in his throat. "Look, it doesn't matter. I never cast it."

"Why not?" Quentin demands. "If you really think it's more dangerous for me to know about magic than to send me back to my life with half a week missing and just— expect me to never wonder what happened, why didn't you just do it?"

"I couldn't," Eliot admits, forcing the words out. "Even when I knew that you would be safer back in your own world, there was still a part of me that wanted you to stay." And god, he has never been so achingly, desperately glad to be selfish. "And now that you have magic—"

"What if I didn't?" Quentin asks, voice wavering in a way that makes Eliot's chest hurt. "If I wasn't a Magician, would you have made me forget everything?"

"No," Eliot breathes, then huffs a weak laugh. If they're really getting it all out in the open right here in the hall, he might as well give him everything.

"Honestly, Quentin," he murmurs, dropping his gaze. "Even if you had never found the book, I still wanted to— to know you, to visit and listen to you talk about rare children's lit, and pretend I was some sybarite collector chasing down some curio you'd never find so I could keep coming back."

Quentin is quiet for a few seconds. When Eliot risks a glance at him he looks a little shocked, but meeting Eliot's eyes he manages a smile. "I think I would've caught on eventually," he says quietly.

"I would've hoped so." Eliot gazes back at him, caught for a moment in longing for that simple, painless version of events— but pushes it away when Quentin turns and opens the door.

He doesn't close it behind him. Feeling lighter, just a little, Eliot follows him inside.

The entryway of Quentin's apartment opens right into a kitchen, where Quentin has flicked on a light and is tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. Eliot does the same, taking in the space. It's not as big as the penthouse kitchen, but at least there's a stove and more than one frying pan, and a fair amount of counter space, actually - although most of it is currently taken up by what looks like a recent grocery run. Tomatoes, onions, a jar of olives, a box of penne, and— 

"Is that a Zinfandel?"

"Oh… yeah," Quentin says, following his gaze to the bottle of wine next to the vegetables. "I don't know anything about wine but, uh, Google told me it was good for tomato-based pasta, which…" He gestures vaguely at the other groceries, and at the pair of plates and glasses beside the stove. "I was… going to cook. For you. That was the plan, I mean, before… all this."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "You wanted me to meet you at the bookstore so you could take me home and… make me dinner?"

"Yeah," Quentin sighs out, sheepish. "It kind of seems ridiculous in hindsight, huh."

It does, but Eliot's heart hurts anyway. God, if Marina didn't get involved, and Quentin really had taken him back here and then cooked for him… He can imagine how it would've gone - opening the wine, leaning on the counter to watch Quentin at the stove, offering help and inevitably finding a reason to take over, Quentin letting him. That would've been it.

He presses his lips together, taking another moment to feel the loss of that, of those possibilities. It didn't happen that way, but they're here now, and Quentin is safe, and he's looking back at Eliot like he doesn't really know what to do with himself. 

The idea of cooking dinner together seems so… _normal_ , after a decidedly not-normal evening, that he's not sure if he could really stand it. He imagines Quentin feels the same. And it's getting closer to breakfast time, anyway.

So he starts to pack the groceries away, mostly guessing where things go until Quentin starts to help, quietly directing him around the kitchen. The simple task helps them both unwind a little, and by the time Eliot is finding a place for the wine on top of the fridge, Quentin is smiling more freely, rolling his eyes at him.

"If that falls when I try to get it down, it's your fault," he huffs, returning the plates to the cupboard.

"Well, you're not planning to drink it without me, are you?" Eliot asks, frowning playfully. "Besides, you can just—" With a look, the bottle floats down from the fridge and into his hands.

Quentin narrows his eyes and tries it himself, but the wine doesn't budge from Eliot's loose grip. "With some practice," Eliot amends, and replaces the bottle on top of the fridge. "But you know, everyone has a speciality - a discipline, it's called. Mine is, as you may have guessed, moving shit with my mind."

"Right." Quentin frowns up at the bottle, like it's betrayed him. "Wouldn't it make sense for mine to be that, too? Since you were the one who… you know." He gestures between them. "Who did the... magical defibrillation, or whatever."

"It's possible," Eliot hums, smirking as he imagines it, "but maybe it's just something you haven't tried yet. You've only known about your magic for a few hours, Quentin, you can hardly be expected to have it all figured out. Remember how I mentioned infinite possibilities?"

Quentin nods, but Eliot can tell he's disappointed. He crosses the kitchen while Quentin turns to put away one of the glasses, coming to lean against the counter beside him.

"Judging by your... previous work," he says casually, and Quentin gives him a wry glance, "I think you're probably a Physical Kid, like me. But even if you turn out to be a Psychic like Penny, or - god forbid - an Illusionist, you can still learn other types of magic." He taps his fingers along the second glass. "I'll even give you telekinesis lessons, if you want."

Quentin reaches for it, but pauses. "I thought you hated teaching."

"I do," Eliot says easily, grinning at him, then shrugs. "But like you said, I kind of have a personal stake in this."

Laughing a little, Quentin brushes his hair out of his face - and then looks thoughtful all of a sudden, blinking like he's realized something. "Oh."

"What?" Eliot asks softly, watching his brows draw together. He moves his hand a little closer to Quentin's on the countertop. "Quentin?"

"I'm just— um." Quentin looks a bit like he's struggling between bewilderment and elation, and takes a second to find his words. "During the spell," he says in a rush, "when you were breaking the curse, while I was— dead or whatever, floating… I told you I felt someone there, before I woke up."

"Yeah, I remember," Eliot says. "You said you were dreaming."

"I wasn't," Quentin says, almost urgent. "I thought it was just part of the spell, or my subconscious, like Alice said, but now… Eliot, I think it was _you_."

"Me?" Eliot searches his face. Is he flushed, or is it just the warm kitchen light? "Quentin, I was… I held your life essence, but you weren't... awake for that."

"I know, but. I felt it," Quentin insists, eyes bright. "I knew you were there."

Eliot thinks suddenly of how Quentin's essence had felt familiar in his hands, like it was as curious and brave as Quentin was - like it was trusting him. His breath catches when Quentin's fingers slide over his own.

"Maybe that's impossible," Quentin says, looking resolute now. "Maybe it was just my brain making something up, but it… it felt like this."

"Like what?" Eliot asks, hardly daring to blink as Quentin holds his gaze, steady and only a little shy.

"Like— _this_ , right now. How it always feels around you. At first I thought it was just what all magic was like, but…" His voice drops to a murmur, and he looks at Eliot like he's something he can’t quite believe he's seeing. "It's just you."

Eliot sees decision set in his face a split second before he moves, but it still manages to surprise him, somehow— Quentin kisses him soft and sweet, a short press that doesn't last nearly long enough. When he tries to pull away, Eliot finally gets his bearings and follows, pressing Quentin back against the counter to catch his mouth again. He lifts his free hand to slide over the back of Quentin's neck and he shivers, clutching at Eliot's shoulders— 

There's a hollow rattling as the abandoned glass vibrates so hard it slips off the counter and shatters on the floor, startling them apart. 

"Shit," Quentin gasps, pushing his hair out of his face and grimacing at the shards scattered across the tile. He glances back at Eliot after a moment, face flushed and sheepish. "Was that me or you?"

"Not sure," Eliot admits. He takes his hands back and holds them over the mess of glass. "I've got it."

"No, um—" Quentin reaches out to stop him, and Eliot drops his arms when he sees the determined look on his face. "Let me."

He crouches down and holds his hands out, palms up. Eliot sinks down beside him and watches the pieces of glass slowly rise from the floor, floating gently around each other until they start to slot back into place. Quentin's fingers twitch almost imperceptibly, plucking just a little to direct the shards back together. Eliot lets out a shaky breath as he glances from Quentin's focused expression to the glass clinking quietly as it repairs itself above his cupped hands. He wonders if this is what it was like when Quentin mended his cigarette case, if he had this look of caring concentration, if it came together so easily like it was just waiting to be fixed.

The glass, whole again, settles on the floor in front of them, and Quentin lowers his hands. He seems surprised to find Eliot staring at him. "What?"

"You're good at that," Eliot says softly. "Fixing things."

"Oh." Quentin blinks, then a pleased flush spreads over his face. Eliot leans over to kiss him again. 

He doesn't really mean for it to be more than a peck, but once his lips are back on Quentin's, it's kind of hard to remember why they ever weren't - especially since Quentin responds so eagerly, pushing closer to him until he's half in Eliot's lap. Eliot puts a steadying hand on his waist and slides his other hand up to the side of his face, tilting his jaw just a little to lick into his mouth. Quentin opens up just as easily as he lets Eliot manoeuvre him around, drawing him in to straddle his hips.

He can feel Quentin whining quietly in the back of his throat whenever Eliot flicks his tongue, can hear him gasping whenever he bites down. He's just started to slide his hand under the hem of Quentin's borrowed shirt, contemplating if it would be uncouth to request it back just to watch him take it off, when Quentin sets his hands on Eliot's shoulders and pulls away. The wet sound of their lips parting gives Eliot half a mind to tug him in again, but he settles for swiping Quentin's hair out of his flushed face as he tries to get his breath back.

"Um," Quentin pants eventually. "Is this... too fast? I mean, I'm— I like it, it's just. It's only been a few days and we're, like…" He trails off, gesturing vaguely with one hand. Eliot, too, must admit that necking on Quentin’s kitchen floor isn't really where he expected to end up either. "I just mean... it's a lot."

"It is," Eliot allows, moving his hand a little higher up Quentin's spine and watching him try not to squirm. "But we've had some exceptional circumstances. I mean, holding your life in my hands has gotta be, what, fifth base?"

Quentin flushes a little deeper. "Yeah, I'll admit that was kind of, um, intimate."

"We can take it slow if you want," Eliot murmurs, brushing his thumb across Quentin's warm cheek. "Back up a few steps."

"Or," Quentin says, fingers curling in Eliot's shirt, "we could… _not_ do that."

And, well— Eliot knows better than to try to fight him on it. He smiles as Quentin ducks in to kiss him again, but it only lasts a few seconds before he breaks it.

"Do you want to— will you stay?" Quentin asks, breathing the words against his mouth. "Tonight?"

Eliot pauses, taking a moment just to savour the feeling of him - of Quentin hovering close, warm and unafraid, his skin thrumming under Eliot's hands. "I'd like to."

And then, because he has _some_ class - "How committed are you to staying on the floor, though, because personally—"

Quentin rolls his eyes, kisses the rest of his sentence out of his mouth, then pulls away to untangle himself from Eliot's limbs. Eliot can't help grinning as he helps him to his feet, resisting the urge to press him against the counter again, lest they end up right back where they started. He picks up the repaired, nearly forgotten glass instead and places it in the cupboard with the first one, then turns to find Quentin holding out his hand, a shy smile spreading on his face.

It draws him in like a beacon, like it would take more effort to keep still than it does to reach back. Eliot slides their fingers together easily, and lets Quentin tug him away down the hall.


	9. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand here is the real ending. i truly can't believe how long this ended up lord congrats @ myself you somehow did it.  
> thank u one more time to becca for finding all my missed apostrophes and stopping me from scrapping the entire ending 1 week into posting, and thank u nicole for being. just. the greatest and letting me spend 3 straight months texting u my progress/fears/gay feelings at 2am. none of this would have happened without u. you know this already, but it's all for you.
> 
> and.... i will say this 160000 more times i'm sure but thank YOU!!! SO MUCH for reading and commenting and everything else, this fic was a lot of fun to write and i've had a really good time sharing it with you all over the past weeks :'| what a wonder it is. i love you all. here's the last of it.

The bell over the door jingles cordially as Eliot steps into The Armory, glad to be out of the morning chill and inside the pleasant warmth of the store. The progression of spring has quashed the threat of late snow, at least, but they've now moved into the section of the year where it's just wet and cold until summer comes. Not Eliot's favourite part of the northeast, but there's enough else to make up for it, especially recently.

Quentin has made great strides over the past few weeks - whether because of his enthusiasm to learn or everyone else's willingness to teach him, Eliot isn't sure, but it probably works out about the same. Eliot has still been doing most of the catching up, but Kady is getting an unexpected kick out of it too. Quentin is, as usual, impressed by everything, whether it's a spell to shoot fireworks out of his hands or a charm that keeps his coffee warm.

He's still splitting his time between the Hedges and the bookstore, and the others have long since stopped trying to make him choose. Today the shop seems pretty quiet, like weekday mornings usually are, but Eliot knows at least one person must be here.

He loosens his scarf and peers around the closest overstuffed shelves. "Q?"

"Back here," Quentin calls, from somewhere several aisles away. There's something else, too - a noise like fluttering pages, and an occasional thump. Eliot frowns and follows the muffled commotion through the shelves, careful not to knock over any of the stacks of books at knee-height.

He's not really sure how worried he ought to be, since the shop has gone through some changes recently. He and Margo went over the whole store with detector spells and picked out all of the spellbooks that had somehow found their way into the inventory over the years, and ever since, Quentin has been looking into avenues to source more, and has designs for a Magicians-only section. They're still figuring out the wards to hide it from muggle perusers, but at the moment it's a kind of half-obfuscated cabinet beside the rare printings.

Quentin even managed to get Julia to steer clear of the new section by convincing her it was for the works of some obscure occult authors with very particular cult-like fanbases - which isn't too far off the mark, honestly, even if Eliot was a little offended by the condemning look of understanding she had shot his way afterwards.

It's a fledgling collection, only comprised of the spellbooks Kady deemed safe to keep in the store and some donated from the penthouse, but it's coming along. Quentin is eager to curate a space for other baby Hedges, and none of the books are even cursed, this time. Eliot checked.

He passes by it as he makes his way to the far back corner of the shop, where he finally comes upon Quentin, his hair tied back in a tiny, messy bun, holding a broom and glaring up at a raven perched on top of a shelf. Eliot comes to stand beside him, crossing his arms and giving the bird an impassive look. "Who's this one from?"

"Free Trader Beowulf," Quentin huffs. "Again."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that the same safehouse that tried to mirror message you last night? While you were—"

"In the shower, yeah." With great effort, Quentin swipes the broom at the raven but only succeeds in dislodging a few paperbacks from the top shelf. Eliot presses his lips together in attempt not to laugh.

The downside of Quentin's refusal to take things slow is that Hedges are terrible gossips, even when they don't like each other. Word spread quickly about what happened to Marina, and even though Eliot and the others had tried to keep Quentin out of it, rumours about his alleged magical prowess keep circulating - and it's not as if they're wrong, because Quentin's magic is stronger every day, but there is the small issue of Hedges also being competitive assholes.

For weeks, other covens have been trying to recruit Quentin in increasingly strange ways, some easier to deal with than others. Eliot has found these attempts more amusing than anything, mostly because of how quickly Quentin's bashful awe turned to bewildered annoyance, but he can't deny he feels proud of Quentin for inspiring such covetous pining. There's also a part of him that twinges with protectiveness every time, but he's gotten used to tamping it down.

"There was a close enough call with all those owls last week," Quentin grumbles, waving the broom fruitlessly again. "If Julia had been here for that, one of us would've had a nervous breakdown and it probably wouldn't be her."

Eliot has to agree - if Julia is overly concerned about the amount of recent avian visits and other, harder-to-explain message-bearing wonders, she’s very good at hiding it. A Hedge had snuck in the other day to relay a cryptic invitation to Quentin in the form of a riddle, and Eliot is almost certain that Julia had seen the witch turn into a cat before scampering out the door, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Eliot would be suspicious if he wasn’t so distracted by Quentin’s palpable relief after every magical near-miss. And he really hadn’t loved vanishing the small fortune of owl feathers they were bestowed with, either. "Are the birds better or worse than the enchanted subway car ambush?"

"Honestly? Debatable," Quentin says flatly. He puts the broom down with a sigh, glowering at the raven, who seems entirely unbothered. "I don’t understand why they can’t just— mail me pamphlets, or something."

"Hey, not all of us have access to a printer." Eliot takes the broom from him and sets it aside, in the niche between two tall stacks of cookbooks. "Who's made you the best offer?"

"It's kind of hard to pay attention to that kind of thing when they're extending the invite from my bathroom mirror, El."

Eliot watches with an amused smirk as Quentin picks up one of the fallen books, weighing it in his hand while he eyeballs the lobbing distance between him and the bird. "Well, rude as they are, Free Trader Beowulf isn't a bad choice. Not a lot of Physical magic there, though. Idri's safehouse might be better for that."

Quentin pauses in his search for a better bird-eviction tool and stares back at him. "What are you talking about?"

"There's like, twelve different Hedges who want your bid, Q. You're allowed to be picky." Something possessive pricks at his insides as he says it, but he still manages a wry smile. "If you're looking to join a coven who could show you—"

"I'm not," Quentin cuts him off, brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would I— Didn't I already join one? Yours?"

"Not officially," Eliot makes himself say, casual around the lump in his throat. "You haven't done any entrance test, so you're still a free agent."

It's not that Eliot doesn't _want_ Quentin to join up with them - in fact, he kind of can't breathe when he thinks about it, and Penny keeps looking at him weird - but this is a decision Quentin ought to make for himself, fully aware of all his options before committing. He didn't really have much choice in where he started off, after all. "There are other covens that might be better suited to help you hone your magic, other Hedges that could teach you—" 

"I don't want to get taught by anyone else," Quentin says, and he's— laughing, just a little, as he steps closer to Eliot, reaching out for his hands. "El, you _gave_ me this."

Eliot swallows hard. "You already had it."

Quentin shrugs, smiling at him. "You showed it to me."

Whatever point Eliot was trying to make flies away from him at the soft look on Quentin's face, and he relents, letting Quentin tug him down by his lapels to draw him into a kiss. Eliot sighs against his mouth, thinking of stars winding up Quentin's forearm, the quavering anxiety he hadn't even noticed settling in his chest starting to dissolve—

Until the raven caws at them, shockingly loud in the quiet store, and Quentin startles so hard he nearly wrenches Eliot's neck.

"Remind me to ask Alice about a bird-repellent charm," Eliot says tightly, giving the raven a baleful look. "And to tell Kady to send out a cease and desist." The raven tilts its head and caws again, shrill and grating. " _Especially_ to Free Trader Beowulf."

Quentin huffs another laugh and takes Eliot's hand again to lead him away from the pest. "I think it's content to stay up there for now. At least it's not flying around or pecking anyone's eyes out. A full _The Birds_ situation might make Julia a little suspicious."

"Only a little," Eliot agrees, going along easily. "Did you really call me here so early just to let me watch you fight a bird, though?"

An eager smile spreads on Quentin's face as he takes Eliot back around the corner shelves. "Actually, I wanted some help with the restricted section."

Eliot smirks at him and lets himself be led right to the cabinet of spellbooks. "Margo's right, you know. When you call it that, it sounds like erotic literature."

"No, it sounds like the library at Hogwarts, you— god, just. Shut up and look at this." Quentin picks up a book lying facedown on the shelf, already open to the page he shoves at Eliot. "Kady showed me this spell to make the books unstealable," he explains, pushing flyaway hairs out of his face as Eliot looks it over.

The theory is simple enough, and it shouldn't be too difficult to spread over the whole section. "Yeah, this'll work fine. Do you want me to cast it for you? It's pretty straightforward, you could probably do it yourself."

"I know, but…" Quentin trails off, and when Eliot looks up at him he's wearing a hesitant sort of grin. "She said it'll be stronger if we cast it together," he says shyly.

Eliot feels a flutter of excitement start up in his ribcage and has to stop himself from creasing the pages under his grip. "Well, if Kady said so."

He skims over the spell one more time before he puts the book down and joins Quentin in front of the cabinet, where he's flexing his hands in preparation to cast, looking almost nervous. It's not like Quentin hasn't done cooperative magic before, because he has, practising with the others or in the odd ritual spell Kady wants to try. But he's never cast with just Eliot. 

"Hey." Quentin looks up, and Eliot ducks down to press a kiss to his mouth, drawing away before he can react. His nervous frown is immediately replaced by exasperated, flushed fondness. Eliot grins at him. "Ready?" 

Quentin nods, determined now, and raises his hands. Eliot does the same, and they both exhale to begin the casting.

From the first twist of his fingers he can feel the spell rising around them, thrumming with energy. He glances at Quentin one more time and catches him smiling, and knows he's feeling the same rush as he is - the crackling pulse of energy between them, the spell glimmering as they shape it together, Quentin's magic right alongside his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm gay. anyway THANKS thanks thanks. thanks. here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/marcelucien_) and my [tumblr](https://aniallating.tumblr.com)! it's been an honour. thank u.


End file.
